Interlude
by mad margaret
Summary: Part 6 (and conclusion) of the Willie Loomis World Series. AU sequel to "This Old House." The continuing story of a cute blond guy and his articulate vampire boss, featuring Willie, Barnabas and Julia as fanfiction's premiere dysfunctional family. Thank you, friends, for the reads and reviews.
1. Interview

**A/N:** AU sequel to This Old House, Part 6 of Willie Loomis Series. The continuing story of a cute blond guy and his articulate vampire boss.  
Other titles are _Little Willie, Globetrotters, The Maine Event, Changes,_ and_ This Old House, _in that order. Frequent reference is made to previous stories.  
The series (with pictures) also appears on my LiveJournal page under the name Lizzie_Bathory. I can't publish the url, but if you go there, search for Willie Loomis and it will come up.  
The time period is shifted from the original series. The first story began in 1966. At this point it is 1980 and Willie is 25 years old.  
Willie's telepathic communications to Barnabas are _italicized_.  
Barnabas' telepathic communications to Willie are _underlined and italicized.  
_I do not own _Dark Shadows_ or any otherwise copyrighted material contained herein.  
As always, your reviews and comments are welcome and appreciated.

* * *

"_Do you believe," said Candide, "that men have always slaughtered each other as they do today, that they've always been liars, cheats, traitors, ingrates and thieves, weak, fickle, cowardly, envious, greedy, drunken, miserly, ambitious, bloodthirsty, slanderous, lecherous, fanatical, hypocritical and foolish?"_

Willie reread the paragraph, carefully turning the decrepit, yellowed page. He was pleased that there were only three, maybe four, words he had to look up. The book would go a lot faster if he wasn't constantly pausing to interpret what was being said. Worse yet was when he didn't understand the definition, making him translate yet more words, or when the juxtaposition of text was confusing. In this passage, though, the intent was clear.

The sound of the door knocker rapping echoed in the hallway, causing Willie's head to pop up out of the colossal dictionary. This was Thursday. There were no workmen expected, no scheduled package delivery. Therefore, Willie didn't feel obliged to answer the door and returned to his research. He didn't want to lose his place and have to start over. After a moment, the knocking resumed, louder than before, and again distracted the young man from his task.

Whoever it was would want to talk to Barnabas, not his lowly manservant, and the lord of the manor was not receiving visitors at this hour of the day. _So go away. _

The sound escalated into a pounding. That wasn't Victoria Winters (she would never bang so forcefully), nor David (those heavy, brass rings were out of his reach). No one else would come there except maybe—the cops. _Oh shit, I knew it._ Willie dropped the Voltaire volume on the floor and sprinted swiftly and silently down the hall and into the parlor.

Squeezed into the corner of the window seat, one could sometimes see who was standing at the threshold, but no one came into view. He then stood on the cushion and peered in the other direction, but could discern no vehicle in the driveway. No black and whites with flashing lights.

The pounding grew louder, matched by the thumping of Willie's heart. He slumped onto the window seat and squeezed his eyes shut, still convinced that SWAT teams were surrounding the house, or that he was being set up for a trap. _Go away go away go away._

_What is the matter with you? Control yourself. _

_I'm scared._

_It will look suspicious if you don't answer the door._

Just then there was a tapping on the glass next to his head. The startled young man opened his eyes and jumped back with a yell. Some crazy woman had her face right up to the window. She smiled and waved, then pointed to the front door.

_It's her, the lady with the squinty eyes. _

_Calm down. Be polite._

_I'll try. _

Willie unbolted the front door and swung it open. The red-haired woman flashed a broad smile. "Well, hello! You certainly are a sound sleeper, aren't you?" She said brightly, extending her hand. "My name is Ms. Hoffman, I'm a houseguest at Collinwood. You must be Willie Loomis."

"Okay." He shook her hand with the enthusiasm of a dead fish.

"Do you mind if I step inside for a few moments? That was such a cold walk from Collinwood, and I've been standing on this portico for almost ten minutes." The woman brushed by Willie and proceeded to the foyer, removing her headscarf before she had even finished asking permission to enter.

"It doesn't seem to be much warmer in here. I'll keep my coat on, if you don't mind." Willie didn't argue.

"Interesting. Very nice." She looked around. "I'm told you've done most of the restoration work on this building, is that true? " She continued before he had a chance to respond. "I'm quite impressed." She strolled into the parlor, parked herself in the master's favorite chair, and systematically removed first her gloves, then the clear, plastic booties that protected her high heels. "Especially when you're working with that handicap."

"Huh?"

"The cast on your hand. It looks like you have a broken finger?"

"Just the little one." Willie tried to think of something polite. "Sorry about the cold, there's no heat in here. . . Um, I could start a fire."

"That would be lovely." She smiled again. Willie threw a Duraflame log into the grate and set it ablaze. "I imagine your wood chopping chores are on a temporary hiatus." The young man nodded, mumbling a vague affirmation.

Ms. Hoffman leaned closer and studied Willie's face illuminated by the fire. "That's odd. I'm sure I saw you at the Christmas Eve service. You had a good deal of scar tissue, right there." She reached for Willie's cheek, but he stood abruptly and made a beeline for the floor candelabrum across the room.

"Got better."

"That's impossible. It was only four days ago."

Willie busied himself with lighting candles. "Ba—Mr. Collins ain't here now. He hasta work durin' the day." The woman settled comfortably back into the chair. "He'll be sorry he missed you."

"I'm sorry I missed him. I wanted to continue our conversation about his home . . . but maybe you can tell me more about the architectural design and history."

"Oh—no. I dunno anything like that. I just work here." He shrugged. "It was built in the 1700s sometime. Everythin's old as dirt and fallin' apart."

"What can you tell me about Mr. Collins?"

Willie was startled by the question. "Nothin'," he replied warily, not sure what gossip she may have heard from Collinwood. "He d-don't talk to me that much."

"You seem nervous, Willie, why is that?" She smiled again in a matronly manner. "I'm sorry if I ask too many questions. It's the nature of my work."

The nature of her work must be to make conversations feel more like interrogations.

"I'm just not used to visitors. Nobody comes here that much."

Ms. Hoffman smiled at him. Willie smiled awkwardly back. The mantle clock chimed the half hour.

"Might I bother you for a cup of tea?"

Willie was about to make his excuses but then remembered there _was_ tea in the cupboard. It was Darjeeling flavor, kept in stock when "Miss Josette" was in residence.

"Sure. It'll take a while. We have a s-stove, but I hardly ever use it."

"That's no problem. I'm not in a hurry."

Willie headed for the basement stairs. He paused on his way to the kitchen and slammed his hand on the vampire's coffin lid. "Hurry up, I'm dyin' up there."

_Don't do that, I am getting no rest as it is. What does that woman want?_

_To drive me up a fuckin' wall!_

Willie filled the tea ball with aromatic leaves, fetched a cup and saucer, and pumped water into the kettle. _She's outta luck if she wants milk or sugar or lemon._ He brought everything upstairs because there was no fire going in the kitchen.

When he returned to the parlor, Ms. Hoffman was standing with her back to him, powdering her nose. She turned at the sight of his reflection in the compact mirror. "Oh, thank you," she said, taking the empty cup and saucer. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

Willie shook his head and noticed that she had removed her coat and hung it in the foyer. _Make yourself at home, lady._ He hung the kettle on the hook over the fire and self-consciously seated himself in the high back opposite. Willie rarely sat in chairs in the Old House. He still didn't believe the place was free of bugs, even in the dead of winter.

By the end of their conversation, Willie was ready to plead the fifth and ask for a lawyer. The woman even pulled out a pad and pen to take notes. Raquel (1) used to do that, but she was a con artist and had to keep her facts straight.

Eventually, the front door opened, Barnabas entered and hung up his trusty cane. _Good trick_, _he must have sneaked out the service entrance and walked around to the front door._ It only then occurred to Willie that the boss's overcoat had been hanging in the foyer the entire time. Ms. Hoffman was a pretty sharp cookie; he doubted if that had escaped her notice.

"Miss Hoffman, what a pleasant surprise!" Barnabas glided across the room and clasped her hand. _He kisses Vicki's hand. _"To what do I owethis unexpected pleasure?"

Historian and vampire exchanged niceties in which Willie had no interest. After a few minutes his eyes started to glaze over. Something was said about Barnabas being the undisputed authority on blah blah blah . . . the conversation stopped. Willie looked up to realize that he was the focus of their attention.

"I think we're boring him. Willie, perhaps your time would be better spent elsewhere."

"Yessir." The servant sighed with relief, maybe a little too audibly, as he left the parlor.

"I'm afraid I monopolized the man's entire afternoon . . ." Their voices trailed off as Willie ascended the steps. He paused only momentarily on the landing to overhear their conversation, then realized that he didn't give a flying shit. She obviously wasn't a cop, or they would have been in the lock-up by now. She just came to talk. But, damn, nobody talks that much, except maybe Mrs. Johnson.

Willie took a quick, cold wash and trudged up to his third floor bedroom. Today had been a waste; it was too dark to do any chores now, so he would get an early start in the morning. And tomorrow was Friday, which meant, if there was time, Willie could get a hot shower at Collinwood.

Even if it was too early to go to sleep, he was going to hide in his room until that lady left. The book he was reading was still downstairs so he pulled out a comic book from under his mattress and spent some time with his buddy, Spiderman.

Later, the young man built a small fire and changed into his nightclothes: long johns underneath sweat pants and his hoodie. On very cold nights, he also wore his jacket to bed. He squeezed on two pairs of athletic socks and climbed beneath the double blankets.

* * *

"Willie!"

_What the hell. . ._ He roused himself from a deep sleep as the vampire's bellow resounded up two flights of stairs. That guy could wake the dead, Willie thought as he fumbled to pull off his covers. With no intentions of getting dressed again, the servant discarded one pair of socks (leaving the other pair on) and grabbed his sneakers before making his way downstairs, yawning and scratching his head. Barnabas and his guest were in the foyer. They scowled and smirked respectively at the sight of the young man's blond hair misshapen into lopsided spikes.

"Willie, I want you to drive Miss Hoffman back to Collinwood. It's too dark for her to walk in the woods alone." He helped the woman into her coat.

"I don't want to be any trouble," she interjected, tying her headscarf.

"It's no trouble at all, is it, Willie?" Barnabas smiled cordially as he handed Ms. Hoffman her gloves and Willie sat on the steps to tie his shoes.

"No, sir. I'll get my keys and bring the truck 'round front."

Winter nights in Maine were bitter cold. It would have been preferable to let the vehicle warm up just a little, but Willie didn't wish to keep anyone waiting and, more important, he wanted to get back indoors as fast as possible. He turned on the radio before pulling up, hoping that would put a damper on any attempt to chat. The tactic was effective; good, because the driver at this point was bankrupt of conversation.

Willie pulled up to the main entrance at Collinwood and let the engine idle as Ms. Hoffman gathered her purse. She placed her hand over his on the steering wheel. "Thank you so much for your time today. It was an enlightening visit." She lifted his fingers. "You should wear gloves; your skin will crack in this weather and you could get an infection." Willie took back his hand. Okay, that was creepy. Cold vapor escaped his mouth as the driver waited to ensure that she was safely inside the building. Then, he threw the truck in gear and made a headed home. He thought it was funny that she had an enlightening visit in such a dark house.

Willie pulled the vehicle around to the rear of the house and came in through the service door, because that's what servants do. Barnabas was nowhere to be seen, so he hung the car keys on the hook in the butlers' pantry and high tailed it back to his room, where he dove once more beneath the covers.

_Shit._ The irritating woman had kept him from eating dinner, and now he was hungry. The handyman seldom stopped to eat at midday, because he often had a difficult time resuming tasks once interrupted. His stomach growled angrily as he climbed back out of bed and, this time forgoing shoes, grabbed a candle and descended the back stairs to the basement kitchen.

Willie rummaged through the cupboards and chose for himself a can of steak and potato soup. That sounded hearty. Unfortunately it would be a cold meal as there was no fire in the kitchen, and Barnabas would undoubtedly disapprove of him wasting an entire Duraflame log just for his dinner. He sat at the old wooden work table and ate from the can.

_Thwack!_ There was a sudden dull pain on his upper arm. He grabbed it with his good hand, but the next blow landed on his knuckles, and that stung like hell, so he quickly pulled away. The servant toppled from his chair when he ducked to avoid the third strike. Scrambling up, Willie slipped in his stocking feet, and backed away until he hit the wall. There the young man slid to the floor as he saw Barnabas standing over him with a slender rod in his hand. He tucked his hands and face out of the line of fire (this was now common practice) as a succession of blows fell. Finally he raised his arm, blocking the last strike with his plaster cast.

That caused the stick to break in two. The vampire roared with anger, threw the pieces down and stomped away, offended at the sight of him. Willie sat relatively unhurt but dazed on the flagstone floor, uncertain of what he had done wrong and afraid to ask. Maybe the boss was mad at Ms. Hoffman and, well, he couldn't hit her.

"Are you m-mad at Ms. Hoffman?"

Barnabas crossed back to his servant, yanked him up by the arms and got uncomfortably close to his face. "No, Willie, because Miss Hoffman did not throw my first-edition Voltaire novel to the floor and break its spine." (2)

The master tossed him roughly aside and stormed out of the room. Willie chewed on his lower lip. He felt bad, because he knew how sensitive Barnabas was about his stuff, especially after all the pricey relics that "Miss Josette" had dispatched to the waste bin. The _Candide _book was probably worth a fortune, like that bottle of wine he drank. Not that the cost mattered; it seemed money was no object to the old man where his possessions were concerned. Only when it came to everyday expenses, like Duraflame logs, was he stingy—no, wait, he was _miserly._ This was a good opportunity to use one of his new words.

Willie sat down to resume his meal; fortunately neither can nor candle had toppled in the scuffle. Other than some broken skin on his hand, he was unscathed. Long underwear and sweat clothes provided a lot of padding against that skinny little stick, wherever that came from. He sucked the blood off his knuckles when Barnabas re-entered the room.

"I forgot to mention, Miss Hoffman _knows_," the vampire spat.

Willie put down his spoon. "What, about you? How—?"

"She has not yet said as much, but it's obvious from her demeanor."

The servant nodded in agreement, recalling that the lady had a smirky attitude. "W-What are we gonna do?"

"I shall have to kill her," the vampire replied, as if stating the obvious, and left once again.

The servant finished his dinner in silence. If Barnabas was going to kill Ms. Hoffman anyway, Willie didn't see why he had had to get up to drive her home.

* * *

(1) Raquel was Jason's and Willie's partner in Panama. See Globetrotters, Ch. 4  
(2) Barnabas' copy of _Candide _was really a second edition because it is an English translation. The first edition was in French.


	2. Interloper

**A/N:** Please see Chapter 1  
**Synopsis:** Willie meets the other house guest at Collinwood. Maybe Roger was right; they should install a revolving door. Featuring Willie, Mrs. Johnson and her disagreeable offspring.

* * *

Christmas was last Tuesday, which meant Willie had missed a Collinwood visit. As a result, he eagerly anticipated his Friday appointment. As he drove down to the fork in the road and up the other side, the servant wondered what was shaking at the Great House. Had Barnabas really killed the annoying lady last night, and would the cops be there now? He hoped not, because last time there was trouble brewing, Mrs. Johnson had shooed him away without his shower or hot meal.

There was no sign of the law when the young man passed the front entrance and rounded the driveway to the service area. Everything seemed typical of a quiet winter day. The only thing amiss was that Mrs. Johnson didn't answer the door. It was her son, the errant parolee.

"What do you want?" the sullen man snapped when he saw that Willie was not the delivery boy.

"I'm here to see Mrs. Johnson. I-I do work for her sometimes." Willie wasn't sure how else to describe their arrangement.

"Oh, you're the _handyman_," Harry sneered. "Sorry to tell you this, but they don't need you anymore, so shove off." He shut the door in Willie's face.

The young man stood there crestfallen for a minute before turning to leave. He suspected this was going to happen when he saw the housekeeper's son at the church on Christmas Eve. Harry must have recently been released on parole, and he would need a job. The displaced worker turned to leave.

The door opened a second time and Mrs. Johnson appeared. "I'm sorry, Willie, don't mind him. Come on in and have lunch with us."

Willie wasn't sure which he wanted more: to go in and eat, or say _screw you_ and leave. Hunger triumphed and he went in. The housekeeper motioned him to sit in the kitchen and introduced her son, who slouched over the table, his head buried in a newspaper. He was a rat-faced man in his early thirties with hair the color of dishwater and a personality only a mother could love.

Mrs. Johnson gave Willie a bowl of navy bean and ham soup with a glass of milk. He was somewhat disappointed; after all, beans and soup were his mainstays at home—anything that came in a can, really. Foodstuffs in soft packages were always subject to rodent invasion. Nevertheless, the soup was hot, and served with fresh bread and butter, and that was definitely a treat.

"Don't you worry, there's still plenty of work to do around here," Mrs. Johnson said, then looked at him dubiously. "Although I don't know what you think you're going to do with just one good hand." Willie filled his mouth with bread to avoid answering the question. "You're certainly not operating a chainsaw, and we could use some firewood. I've asked Harry—Harry, I asked you yesterday and today, to help out a little. Since Mrs. Stoddard is letting you stay here, the least—"

"I told you, Ma, there's no way I'm workin' outside in this weather, and I don't know how to chop wood. I'm lookin' for a _real_ job, can't ya see?" He pointed to the classified ad section of his _Collinsport Star_.

"I'd just as soon have you here, where I can keep an eye on you." She returned to her food preparation. "You shouldn't be so fussy. Look at Willie, he's happy to do all the chores I give him. When he's able, that is. Maybe he can show you how to chop the wood."

Harry looked arrogantly over the top of his periodical at the younger man. "I don't think so."

"There's other stuff I can do 'till my hand gets better," Willie piped up. He realized that sounded like a suck up, but he had such a sweet deal here, and was desperate to keep it going.

"I can't imagine what." Mrs. Johnson shook her head. "You can't wash dishes, or polish silver, or peel potatoes or even fold laundry. And I can't let you into the main part of the house. After that to-do with Mr. McGuire, you would_ not_ be a welcome sight, I can tell you that."

Willie scanned the room; there had to be something. Then his face lit up. "I can wash the floor—maybe not with a mop, but I could with a bucket and a scrub brush. That's how I do it at the Old House."

"Are you saying my floor doesn't look clean?" Mrs. Johnson snorted. Harry barked a plosive laugh behind his newspaper.

"No, ma'am," said Willie, deflated.

"Useless, both of you," The housekeeper tutted as she continued to fix lunch for her employers. Willie kept his head down but Mrs. Johnson's irritation quickly passed.

"My Harry is now the chauffeur for Miz Stoddard. You know the missus doesn't drive—well, she hardly needed to before _now_. Funny, the woman never took a step off this property in all those years, and now she goes _every_where. And I don't mean shopping and tea parties; in one week Miz Stoddard is heading more committees and charities than anybody I know. _And _she's goes in to the office in town almost every day.

"And it all happened because of your Mr. McGuire." Mrs. Johnson had hit her stride now. When it came to gossip, she was a champion racehorse.

"Do you know what that man did? He threatened to tell the authorities that she killed her husband eighteen years ago, and that he had buried the man in our basement. And here's the doozy: it was all a big lie. All that time she was innocent, Paul Stoddard is off gallivanting somewhere and here this _criminal_ is taking her money, almost got her to _marry_ him! I can't imagine how the poor lady survived it." She snorted derisively.

"Well, he got his comeuppance, I'm glad to say. I bet that's the last we see of him. Good riddance to bad rubbish."

"Ma, shut up," Harry groaned.

Willie was stunned. He knew his former partner had been blackmailing the mistress of Collinwood, but Jason would never divulge details. Four months ago, he would have slapped the Irishman on the back and commended his ingenuity. Now he just felt awful for Liz Stoddard and her whole family, whose lives had been ruined by the man he had once admired.

Alongside McGuire, Willie had, in his day, ripped off and scammed more people than he could count. He never once gave a thought to the victims of those crimes; in fact, he usually felt they deserved what they got.

As it turned out, Willie had gotten his comeuppance too, but not like Jason. Now Jason was buried in the basement, instead of Paul Stoddard. That was (new word) ironic.

"You're quiet today, Willie."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Once again, I had to prepare a whole separate lunch for Miss Hoffman, because she doesn't eat pork products. I don't see why not, this is perfectly good ham. Well, if you ask me, that's why she's so skinny. A person should have some meat on their bones, I say."

So Ms. Hoffman was still alive. Of course, Willie had surmised this because, had she been found dead in her room that morning, the subject certainly would have come up in conversation.

Mrs. Johnson loaded her tea cart. "Well, luncheon is served in the main dining room. I'll be back in a few minutes. Now, you boys behave."

"Yes, ma'am." Willie held the door open as she pushed the trolley through.

"_Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am_. Gimme a fuckin' break." Willie had a feeling that he and Harry were not going to be good pals. "Listen up, you little punk. I'm livin' in the men's servant quarters now, and if you think I'm sharin' the bathroom with you, faggot, you're wrong."

Willie sighed. He had just been called a punk and a faggot in the same breath; both were prison talk for an invitation to battle. He remained standing near the door.

"So you work for the other Collins, the crazy one," Harry continued. "I bet you make him a fine bitch."

Again Willie controlled his temper. Being in Mrs. Johnson's kitchen, and with only one hand, he had little choice. "His name is Barnabas," he said with a polite smile. "I hope you meet him soon."

"Looks like he got rough with you," the other smirked, looking at Willie's arm cast.

The handyman shook his head. "Nah, got this in a fight. I really gotta watch my temper. Ya see, I punched the guy's teeth in, and broke my finger when I smashed his nose. I feel real bad about that, his jaw's all wired shut now."

That made Harry look at the punk, sizing him up. Willie could read the look in his eyes. _He knows I'm smaller, but he's not sure if he could take me. Good, 'cause you know what little guys can do? They can kick you in the nuts, even with one hand. _

"I heard you did a stretch," Willie changed the subject, reseating himself at the kitchen table. "Where'd you do the time?"

"Maine State at Thomaston—breaking and entering." The ex-con sounded proud.

"I was at Sampson, North Carolina."

"Yeah? What for?"

"Second degree murder." Willie shook his head and looked embarrassed. "It was all a mistake—my goddamn temper…"

Willie always had that talent. He could look someone directly in the eye and tell a bald-faced lie without even blinking. To anyone except Barnabas. And he felt no compunctions about bullshitting this thug. Being sent up for credit card fraud wasn't going to impress him, nor was being bullied with a hammer by his former friend.

"So . . ." Now it was Harry's turn to change the subject. "Wanna buy some weed? Crank? Ludes?"

"No, thanks, I'm good for now." Willie scratched his head. "I should probably tell you, I'm tight with the local dealer here, and if that badass finds out you're posin' in his territory, he will rip off your dick and shove it down your throat. Just sayin'."

Harry swallowed. "Why would he find out?" he asked warily.

"I dunno," Willie shrugged. "I got no reason to tell 'im, right?" He rose and put his dishes in the sink. "Listen, I'm gonna take a long, hot shower, which, by the way, I do ev'ry Tuesday and ev'ry Friday. I really look forward to those showers and a little _me_ time, know what I mean? So, I'd appreciate it if you were somewhere else when that happens. . . I know, you could do some stuff to help out your mom. I'd like that."

With that, Willie retired to the men's servant quarters.


	3. Interference

**A/N:** Please see Chapter 1  
**Synopsis:** Julia is back with a vengence and is dropping bombshells all over the Old House. Featuring Willie, Barnabas & Julia, TV's original dysfunctional family.

* * *

After his visit to Collinwood, Willie finished the other errands and headed back to the Old House. It was after dark and he hoped Barnabas wouldn't be too pissed, because the vampire preferred to rise in a candlelit room with his servant in attendance, not to a dark, empty house. He lumbered in the back entrance and down the hall, hauling an awkward armful of instant logs. The servant noticed a glow emanating from the parlor, so he headed there first.

"Sorry I'm late, got stuck on the ice goin' uphill," he yelled. "Hey, I thought you were gonna kill Ms. H—?" Willie stopped midsentence and froze in the doorway, his mouth hung open. The vampire stood by the mantle. Ms. Hoffman sat in the high back chair. They both stared at him.

"I mean _call_ Ms. Whats-her-name, ya know, the—never mind." Willie hastily crossed the room and unloaded his bundles by the fireplace, stacking them neatly, keeping is head down and eyes averted. _Oh, shit, somebody say something._ At length, he guiltily looked up at Barnabas.

"Sit down, Willie," his boss said. "There have been developments." He wandered across the room to the window.

Willie didn't know if he meant to sit in the other chair or not. Probably not, that was the master's favorite. To be on the safe side, he plopped down on the floor in the same spot where he had been kneeling, by the warm fire. The servant snuck a peek at Ms. Hoffman, who returned his gaze. She was not smiling now, and no one spoke.

"I'm sorry," the young man blurted.

"For what?"

"I dunno. Whatever I did." His leg was bouncing, as he wracked his brain to think what could have happened. He often messed things up without realizing it, like when he broke the vampire's beloved book.

"This is not about you, unless you have done something of which I am unaware." the master turned to him. "Have you?"

"No," the servant quickly responded. _Other than sayin' somethin' really stupid just now._

"That was of no consequence," Barnabas responded aloud and he again began to pace the room. "Because I did, in fact, attempt to do away with Dr. Hoffman last evening." The woman's face registered her observation of the strong telepathic bond between the two men.

Willie was confused. When the monster wanted to kill something, it was usually dead afterwards. However, the next question out of his mouth was to the lady. "Are you really a doctor?"

"Yes," she answered. "And I'm not a dermatologist, but I brought this for you." She reached for her handbag and handed him a small tube. "Rub that on your hand before it gets any worse."

"_Doctor_ Hoffman," Barnabas continued, slightly irritated at the interruption, "was, as we suspected, not only fully aware of our situation, but also of my intentions to silence her—"

"So I laid a trap for him," the doctor interrupted.

"That was hardly a trap," the vampire argued. "You rumpled your bedcovers and hid in the closet. I still could have disposed of you, I merely chose not to—as I was interested in what you had to say."

"You see, I have written letters," the woman explained for Willie's benefit, "to an undisclosed number of people with instructions that they be opened in the event of my death—or disappearance. These letters explain in detail who and what your employer is, and the roles you both played in the attacks and deaths of several people, including Eugene Greenwald and Maggie Evans." Again, Willie's jaw dropped. "Under the circumstances, Mr. Collins was _very _interested in what I had to say."

Willie attempted to process this windfall of information. "How did you find out?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

"I am a psychiatrist and the resident physician at Wyndcliffe Sanitarium. One of your casualties was my nephew, whom I had transferred from EMMC (3) to my facility, because he had been raving that his illness was caused by a vampire bite."

"You're talkin' about Gene? T-The guy in the Bangor hospital? Is he okay?"

The doctor smiled sardonically. "Thank you for your concern. Mentally, he is suffering some trauma. Physically, he has a blood infection we have been unable to identify. I've been treating him for that, and it seems to have gone into remission."

"We're quite relieved," Barnabas said from across the room.

"I'm sure it would have been more convenient for you had he passed on," the doctor corrected. "During our sessions, he told me an incredible story of being the guest of a vampire in Collinsport, and he very accurately described you—and you too, _Igor_—and this house."

"What's gonna happen now?" Willie asked tentatively.

"Nothing," the woman said simply. "I hypnotized him and erased all memory of the event." Barnabas and Willie exchanged glances. "The same as I did to _Maggie Evans_." Both heads shot in her direction.

"I forgot to mention, she is not dead as the newspapers reported; that was a false statement issued by police to fool her kidnappers. She is, in fact, my patient at Wyndcliffe." Dr. Hoffman smiled with the confidence of a poker shark who just laid down an ace high.

Then Willie drew up his knees, burying his face on top. _Maggie was alive_. He audibly heaved two halting breaths and mustered all his strength not to cry.

_Control yourself. _

Barnabas looked away, pondering. "I see," he said at last. "Am I to believe you mesmerized this young man and Miss Evans so they have _no_ recollection of their encounters with us?"

"Yes, Bar—may I call you Barnabas?" She smirked. "You may call me Julia."

The vampire was unconvinced of her good will. "Why did you go to such lengths to conceal my identity? You don't know me. What you did must certainly be considered unethical within the medical community and illegal within the law. Yet, you risked your career in doing it and your life in coming here. I have to ask why."

Julia gripped the arm of her chair. "Because I had to meet you, to see for myself if it was true," she hissed. "If I can analyze your blood structure, and alter it, I may be able to _cure_ you. We will make medical history."

Willie lifted his head, peeking over his jacket sleeve. Barnabas studied Julia, considering her proposition. The doctor's eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

"What exactly do you mean by _cure_, doctor? What I have is an ancient curse, not a head cold."

"You were cursed almost 200 years ago. Now, modern medicine may provide the antidote." The doctor sounded capable and confident. "We won't know unless we try," she added seductively.

"How is Maggie?" Willie interrupted.

"She's doing well—and no threat to you, Barnabas, I made sure of it."

The vampire sat in the chair opposite her. "What about her father and the suitor? What do they make of all this?"

"Mr. Evans and Joe Haskell think I'm working with the young lady to _regain_ her memory, not destroy it. My colleague, Dave Woodard, arranged for me to stay at Collinwood posing as a historian in order to investigate my findings."

"Does Woodard know?"

"Not yet," she smiled. "Not as long as I'm safe. He thinks I'm piecing together the. . ."

Willie rose to his feet and walked out of the room as their conference continued. He walked slowly down the steps to the cellar and into the kitchen. There he primed the pump a few times and, when the frigid water flowed, stuck his head under it.

A minute later, the young man stood up and, with a shake of his hair, whipped water across the room. His heart was thumping and the cold momentarily made his head pound. Willie took in the deepest breath he could and yelled until his lungs were spent. Then he walked calmly upstairs and back to the parlor.

"Are you alright?" Julia asked warily as she watched him return to the floor by the fireplace, water dripping from his hair.

"He's fine; the boy tends to be emotional," Barnabas answered for his servant. "Willie, the doctor requires a laboratory in order to conduct her _experiments_." He still didn't sound completely convinced. "I want you to clean out a room in the basement."

Willie shook his head and spoke softly. "Can't do that."

"The dairy cellar should be adequate," the vampire continued, ignoring the young man's protest.

"Barnabas, no."

The master's eyes flashed, though he spoke with composure. "Don't argue with me in front of our guest."

Willie looked his boss in the eye. "Sir," he said deliberately. "That's a very bad idea."

"You do not have an opinion on the matter," Barnabas stated.

Willie rose and approached the master. "Can we talk? In private? Just for a minute. Excuse us, doctor." He walked out of the room. The vampire hesitated, then stormed after him.

"How dare you—!" he fumed.

Willie put his finger to his own lips and motioned Barnabas to follow him down the hallway. He led his boss to the ballroom and closed the door behind them. Seething, the vampire folded his arms and waited for the explanation.

"Okay, calm down. You can't put Dr. Hoffman in the dairy cellar. It's freezin' cold down there, and it _stinks_ to high heaven. You, of all people, know how much it stinks."

"Then why don't you just clean it properly?" Barnabas snapped.

"That's not why it stinks—well, part of it is. But mostly it's because there's a _body_ buried in the alcove. Did ya forget about that? Don't ya think she'll notice?"

The vampire shrugged. "I didn't think it was that obvious."

"It definitely is. Because I'm not that good at diggin' graves. Robbin' them, yeah, maybe, but not diggin' 'em, 'specially with one hand."

"What else can we do?"

"Are you kiddin'? Put her upstairs. You got enough bedrooms to open a fuckin' hotel."

The vampire backhanded him harshly. "You will adjust your attitude, boy, and—stop using profane language. I'm done with it." He turned on his heel and swept out of the room. Willie picked himself up and obligingly followed.

"My manservant has pointed out the advantages of arranging a room for you on the third—"

"—_Second_ floor," Willie corrected. "Sir." She can do her crazy-ass experiments near the vampire's bedroom, not his. What if she uses radioactive laser beams or something?

"Those rooms are bigger," the young man continued. "The windows are taller for more light, nicer fireplaces, and she'd be closer to the bathroom."

"Excellent, Willie, I see you've given this thought." The master smiled at him knowingly. "So why don't you pick one and start moving out the furniture. . . _now_."

"Okay," Willie sighed. Julia approached to closer observe the cut on his mouth. That big, black ring always sliced his lip. He flinched away and left the room, running up the stairs two at a time, as was his custom. The servant wiped away the smear of blood and licked it off his fingers before determining which room would best suit their mad scientist. Maybe he would be the laboratory assistant, in which case he truly would be Igor.

* * *

(3) Eastern Maine Medical Center, Bangor, ME


	4. Intervention

**A/N:** Please see Chapter 1  
**Synopsis:** Julia moves in, takes over and exhibits the nagging skills of a Jewish mother, except her weapons are sedatives and hypnosis, instead of chicken soup and brisket. Featuring Willie, Barnabas & Julia, TV's original dysfunctional family.

* * *

Dr. Hoffman's makeshift laboratory was not attractive but functional. Over the next few weeks she had all kinds of cumbersome (and expensive, according to Barnabas) equipment delivered and set up in the bedroom that had once belonged to his Aunt Abigail.

Willie hauled out everything he could, but the writing desk for Julia. He also pushed into the far corner the canopy bed and armoire, both which would not fit through the door without being dismantled. In another corner was a big, noisy power generator which horrified the ancient vampire and rendered the large windows and fireplace unnecessary. Heavy drapes had to be installed to block the view of electric light from outside.

The lab assistant's job was to keep the room as clean as possible, scrubbing the walls and floor with special solutions, and to drive Julia back and forth from Collinwood twice a day. Willie wore a heavy rubber glove on his good hand when he worked and a plastic bag with a rubber band over his arm cast.

Dr. Hoffman was frequently preoccupied with her research and ignored him, except to give the young man orders (he wasn't sure how he ended up being her servant) or butt into his private life (he also wasn't sure how she became his personal physician and analyst).

"Willie, how is your hand healing?"

"The cast comes off in a few weeks, and, boy, will I be glad."

"I meant the other one with the broken skin. Did you use the ointment I gave you?"

"I forgot. It's okay, though."

"Let me see." she looked up from her desk and motioned him to come over. Willie complied, protesting, as she removed his work glove. "It's not okay, it's infected, which is exactly what I told you would happen. Why didn't you say something?" Willie shrugged. "Sit down and I'll give you something to clear it up." She walked over to her work table and prepared a hypodermic.

Willie's eyes went wide. "W-What's that? I don't do needles."

"Penicillin. Don't worry—" but Willie had already slid out of the chair.

"I can't take that stuff. I had too much of it when I was—young, and now it don't work on me."

"Why were you given so much antibiotic?"

"I dunno." Willie wanted to tell the nosy doctor to mind her own business. She was supposed to be here helping Barnabas, after all.

"Come back, I'll give you a topical." She examined his fingers. "Willie, your hand is shaking. What's the matter?"

"Nothin'. It does that sometimes."

"Are you taking the Valium I gave you?"

"No, 'cause then I can't wake up in the morning. I got things to do; I can't be goin' 'round all woozy."

She studied him with a pinched face. "I gave them to you to help with your alcohol withdrawal."

"I told you, I'm not havin' a problem. I stopped drinkin' lots of times."

She snapped her medical bag closed. "Apparently none of which were successful. And it is a problem if you're shaking and having trouble sleeping at night."

"It goes away. I don't need any needles or pills, so leave me alone." Willie put his glove back on and began gathering his cleaning supplies.

"Irritability is also a withdrawal symptom."

"Nah, I'm always like this."

* * *

Evenings were a reprieve for Willie because when Barnabas was in the room, Dr. Julia Hoffman saw nothing else. Her days were spent reading and writing and looking at slides in her microscope, but at night the two of them would hole up in that room for hours doing god knows what.

_Experimental research. Yeah, is that what they call it? _

The following evening, Julia did not go directly upstairs to her lab, but instead invited Willie to join her in the parlor for a few minutes before Barnabas arose. The handyman started to invent excuses for leaving as they entered. Dr. Hoffman pulled from her pocketbook a pamphlet she handed to the servant.

"Willie, do you know what this is?"

He read the cover. "It says _12 Steps to Recovery_. There was a movie about 39 steps. This must be shorter."

"I want you to read it, and there's a group that meets once a week in town."

Willie looked at the brochure. It was from Alcoholics Anonymous—that was where his mother had gone when she stopped drinking; it had changed her whole life. But Lyddie had had a real problem with booze. Eventually, she had been declared unfit to care for her son. Then she went to this AA place and, just like that, she was all better. Willie wasn't as bad as his mom. He was not unfit to take care of his vampire.

"Maybe," he said uncertainly. "I dunno."

"There's something else I can do to help." Julia again opened her bag.

"I don't want any more pills."

"This is something different." She pulled out a large, multifaceted medallion and held it up for Willie's inspection.

"It sure is. Whatsit got, magic powers?"

"Almost." She smiled. "I can hypnotize you."

The young man was skeptical. "Like you did to Maggie and Gene?"

"Yes, but instead of losing your memory, you will lose your craving for alcohol. Now, doesn't that sound like a good idea? No pills . . . no needles . . . All you have to do is look at it . . . See how it catches the light . . ."

Willie was out, one arm suspended in the air as per her instructions. Dr. Hoffman spoke in soothing tones as she told the patient he would no longer find drinking pleasurable and would suffer no withdrawal symptoms from the experience.

"When did you first start drinking, Willie?"

"Maybe seven or eight." He went on to describe the Capri Garden Lounge where his mother worked as a cocktail waitress. He sat on a barstool next to his pal, Charlie, watching the ballgame on TV. Suddenly, he reached over and grabbed the old man's beer mug and took a big gulp. "Now, cut that out!" Bob the bartender yelled, but he was chuckling. Willie swayed on the stool in a caricature impersonation of a drunk, like Charlie Chaplin. As he slid off and staggered around the room, others joined in the laughter. The two hookers at the end of the bar kissed him, leaving frosted pink marks on each cheek.

"How long did this go on?"

"Till they sent me away."

"Who did? Where did you go?"

"St Jerome's, like a reform school, but with nuns and priests . . . and Father Donahue."

"Who is that?"

"Gave me wine to drink. A lot of wine. I fell asleep."

"Are you saying a priest gave you alcohol? Why would he do that?"

"He said he liked me."

"What happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

"Willie, you need to remember if you want to get better." The patient sat in silence. "Alright, we'll move on." The doctor was afraid Willie would bring himself out the trance, and so she changed the topic. "So, did you graduate from St. Jerome's?"

"I almost finished 9th grade. Was s'pposed to move home, but I met Jason and ended up with him instead."

"Jason McGuire?" Willie nodded. "Where did you meet him?"

"In the bar. He let me stay in his hotel room, bought me smokes and pirate rum. There was a pirate on the bottle."

"Did you drink heavily then?"

"Oh, yeah. I was workin' as a hustler. He said it was an easy job, but it was bad; the other whores I knew were all druggies; they used needles and would shoot up all the time. I just got drunk every night."

Things were starting to make sense to the doctor. "Willie, is that why you had so much penicillin?"

"Jason took me to get a shot every week. I don't like shots, but it was so I wouldn't get the clap. He said he would always take care a' me."

"How long did you work as a prostitute?"

"A while; four years or so. We never stayed in one place. I got messed up real bad this one time and didn't work again after that. Nineteen was gettin' long in the tooth, Jason said, so we shipped out."

"You were on a boat?"

"A ship." Willie corrected her. "Tramp steamer. We sailed all over the world, haulin' cargo to diff'rent places."

"Were you drinking then?"

"During layovers, not usually on board. Too busy."

"Why did you stop sailing?"

"Jason didn't really want to. He always had plans for some big con that was gonna make us rich."

"Did the plans work?"

"Not that one, but he taught me lots of scams that did, and we made some good scores, but we got double-crossed in Panama. . ."

"What happened then?"

"I was in prison for awhile; didn't drink in there. When I got out, Jason was still broke; that's how we ended up here."

"How did you meet Barnabas?"

"Broke into his coffin. I was really drunk and lookin' for loot."

Having gleaned the information she wanted, Dr. Hoffman got back on topic.

"From now on, when you take a drink it will be unpleasant and taste bitter. It will remind you of your very worst memory. Do you know what that is, Willie?" Again the young man declined to respond. "What is the worst memory of your entire life?"

" . . . No." The young man's eyes started to water. He shook his head from side to side and trembled violently. "No no no no no no no—"

"What are you thinking about, Willie?"

"Don't! Don't do it! Stop! No! NOOO!" Suddenly the patient was thrashing wildly, screaming incoherently. The doctor tried to intervene but Willie was writhing and kicking on the floor, unable to hear her. In a flash Barnabas, who had been watching from the doorway, was across the room. He knelt next to Willie and restrained him as Julia came to his other side.

"Willie! That memory is gone!" the doctor yelled in his ear. "You will forget about that memory. I will count to three and you will wake up, but you will not remember what we talked about. One two three."

Willie woke up to find himself lying on the parlor floor, heart pounding, drenched in sweat. Barnabas and Dr. Hoffman knelt on either side, staring down at him. Had he passed out? Disoriented and exhausted, his allowed his limbs to go limp and lay there, panting.

"Doctor, I think you have no idea what you're doing." Barnabas sounded aggravated.

Dr. Hoffman took Willie's pulse. "He'll be fine. I have several patients with post traumatic stress. It's a typical reaction."

"I do not see how that little exercise is going to help his drinking problem."

Willie began to remember how he came to be in the room. He had been talking to Dr. Hoffman, who showed him a magic necklace. But Barnabas hadn't been there, and it was not like him to look so concerned about his servant.

"Sorry." He slowly sat up, shaking his head. "I'll go to that meeting if ya want. I guess I better."


	5. Interaction

**A/N:** Please see Chapter 1  
**Synopsis:** Willie takes the first of 12 steps on the road to recovery. The good part is that they have free cookies. Featuring Willie, Barnabas & Julia, TV's original dysfunctional family.

* * *

Alcoholics Anonymous members met weekly in the basement of the Episcopal church. The room was crowded with people, some of whom Willie recognized, none of whom he would have expected to see. The room smelled of fresh-brewed coffee and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air.

The new participant planned to stand in the back, but a friendly lady approached, shook his hand and led him to the refreshment table. There the young man loaded up a Styrofoam cup with hot coffee, milk and lots of sugar. He grabbed a handful of cookies and sat down.

The meeting was a lot of talking. They read the _12 Steps_ out loud.

Number One: Admitting you were powerless over alcohol. Already Willie didn't understand it. If you're powerless, then how can you stop? It made more sense to say you were more powerful than alcohol.

Number Two: Believing there was a power greater than yourself. That would be Barnabas, who would be mad if he screwed this up.

Number Three started talking about god, so he tuned out the rest and concentrated on dunking cookies.

"Is this a first time for anybody tonight?" Willie's attention returned to the gathering. He looked around to see no one responded, but the group leader was looking directly at him. In such a small town, the appearance of a stranger was immediately evident. Reluctantly, Willie raised his hand.

"Welcome." The moderator smiled genuinely. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

His leg started to twitch. "I-I'm Willie," he said in a small voice.

"Hi, Willie!" the whole room chimed in, causing the young man to turn bright pink.

Next, various volunteers got up and related to the group horrific anecdotes of how alcohol had ruined their lives and now they were saved by this program. Willie hoped to god they weren't going to ask him to do that. He had no desire to share his personal tales of terror, although he could probably one-up anybody there if they were looking for shock value. Nobody else had their own vampire and a rotting friend in the basement.

At the end, everyone stood up, held hands and said a prayer about serenity. Willie didn't like to pray or hold hands, but would look up the word _serenity_ when he got home. He grabbed his jacket and hit the road before anyone else could have a chance to speak to him.

Willie sat in his white pickup truck waiting for the engine to warm up before heading back. It sure would be nice to stop at the Blue Whale on the way home, just for a short one. After all, he wasn't allowed to keep any booze in the house anymore, so if he had only one drink, once a week, after his AA meeting, that couldn't do any harm.

The town's only tavern was always bustling, even on week nights. Willie sat at the bar and ordered a beer before spotting Harry Johnson sitting at a nearby table. The ex-con was talking to a clean cut young man in a business suit. He looked familiar but Willie couldn't place the face. It wasn't until he overheard their conversation that he recognized Buzz Hackett's voice.

"Buzz? Is that you?" The young man looked embarrassed as Willie approached their table. "What happened to your Mohawk?"

"Buzz got a buzz cut!" Harry laughed at his own joke.

"Carolyn said to cut it off. It wasn't acceptable for the office." The biker looked miserable, but motioned for Willie to join their table.

"What office?"

"I'm working at Collins Enterprises. La Mama said if I was going to marry her daughter, I had to improve my prospects."

"What about your band?"

Buzz sniffed in disgust. "The Rude Mechanicals threw me out. And it was my band. I started it."

"Man, that sucks." Willie took a sip of his drink and spat it out on the floor. It tasted like someone had pissed in it. "Damn. Somethin's wrong with my beer."

Harry looked at the blond man's potable and then his own, which was identical. He helped himself to a sample. "Taste's okay to me."

"You drink it then." He pushed the libation towards Harry, who looked like he really didn't need another, and returned his attention to Buzz.

"Maybe you could talk to Carolyn. You're s'possed to be marryin' _her_, not her mom."

"I never see her. It's like planning a wedding for her is a full time gig." Buzz ran his fingers through where his hair used to be. "I thought she cared about me." The other two stared at him. "Alright, I wanted her to. I don't know why she ever went out with me in the first place; we have nothing in common."

Willie knew why, but didn't see the point in telling him the truth.

"I know she liked my music, but now the band is gone, and Mrs. Stoddard wants me to use my real name and change my major at UMA.(4) I don't know anything about business administration."

"Sounds like it has to do with makin' money. That's what Collins people do." Willie didn't realize that the punk rocker went to an institution of higher education. "That's a college, right? What are ya goin' there for?"

"Elizabethan literature, mostly, but all the European Renaissance—and Restoration, too. That's why I named my band the Rude Mechanicals. It's an inside joke, you see?"

Willie nodded in apparent agreement; Harry belched into his glass.

"Just wonderin'," Willie ventured a question. "What kinda job do ya get if ya know Elizabethan literature?"

Buzz threw his arms into the air. "At a university, you moron."

Harry snapped out of his stupor and, thinking an altercation was in progress, prepared to throw a punch. Willie pushed him back into his seat.

"Settle down, big guy. Drink yer beer."

"He called me a moron."

"No, he called me a moron. _You_ are an imbecile." Buzz snorted with laughter, which only encouraged Willie to continue. "Here's a new rule for you: don't hit anybody smarter than you are, and you'll never get in trouble." The smaller man handed him fifty cents. "I want you to go put this in the juke box, and you're gonna think about what I said, okay?"

Harry nodded and made his way, with a slight sway, to the other end of the bar. Buzz was still stifling a guffaw and slapped the servant on the back. Willie flinched involuntary at the interaction, but he smiled inside and proceeded to advise the young undergrad, as he was older and wiser.

"Now, it's none a' my business, but maybe gettin' married's not a good idea. If you're havin' trouble now, it'll only get worse later, right? Just tell her you made a mistake, go back to school and start a new band."

"I _want_ to. Don't think I haven't thought about it. It's just that I'm . . ."

"A chicken shit?"

The biker laughed. "I was going to say afraid of hurting Carolyn, but—what you will."

"You couldn't hurt Carolyn if you cracked her with a crowbar."

"Yeah, what about you, Mr. Giving Out Free Advice?" Harry had rejoined his companions. "You were with that big shot McGuire and now you're playing errand boy for the crazy Collins on the hill. I heard that place where you live doesn't even have heat or power. I bet you have to go outside to use the can."

"Hey, I got plumbin' and it works good." _It'd be better if there was a hot water heater._

"Why _do_ you work there?" Buzz was curious as well. "Is it a historical gig or do you just like to fix things up?"

Willie considered launching into the line of his usual bullshit but reversed the decision. Though in unfamiliar territory, he thought he might be making a friend, and it didn't seem right.

"It's complicated," he said in way of explanation. Harry winked at Buzz and snickered as the blond man stood. "I gotta get back. He shits a brick if I'm late."

Willie headed back out into the frigid night air. Collinsport sure wasn't a good place to get coupled. Barnabas had struck out in the woman department, Jason had sure failed, and now Buzz was looking pretty unhappy. His mind wandered to Maggie Evans, probably asleep right now at the big sanitarium where Dr. Hoffman used to work. The young man wondered if she was lonely too, if he would ever see her again, and if she would remember him, maybe just a little.

* * *

(4) University of Maine, Augusta


	6. Intraveneous

**_Synopsis_**_: Willie, in lieu of a lab rat, becomes part of Dr. Hoffman's experiment. _

* * *

The wind howled outside, mercilessly battering the shutters and whistling through cracks in the building's stonework. Willie huddled before the fire in the parlor, cocooned in his wool blanket, as he struggled with the next literary classic the boss had chosen for him to read. It was Elizabethan, like the books that Buzz studied. He learned in the preface that, in addition to Mrs. Stoddard and the Countess Bathory, the era was given that title because there was once another Elizabeth who had been a hot shot English queen, and she knew pirates. That was good to know, because Willie felt less stupid when he understood what people were talking about.

_Candide_ had been a walk in the park compared to Shakespeare's weird ass imagery. The story was older, but the volume was much newer and listed annotations and scene summaries in the margin, without which Willie would have been at a total loss. He ascertained before accepting the assignment that this book was _not_ a first edition.

_Thee, thy, thou, wilst, wouldst, wherefore—vouchsafe?_ That one wasn't even in the dictionary but, apparently, it was neither a voucher nor a safe. If Buzz could understand this stuff, he must be pretty damn smart.

The servant would have much rather retired for the evening, but that was not an option. He had to be available to drive Dr. Hoffman back to Collinwood whenever she pleased, and she often worked obsessively into the wee hours.

The mantle clock chimed 4 AM, and still no word from upstairs. The doctor would want to be brought back again at 9 in the morning. After she ate, showered and changed, when did she have time to sleep? Willie knew these hours were definitely impinging on his rest schedule. _Never was there a tale of more woe._ Funny how she had wanted to give him sleeping pills before; Julia probably took the ones that kept you awake. He was still sitting up as his head nodded and the book slipped from his hand.

"Willie!"

The servant abruptly opened his eyes, picked up and closed the book (carefully) and headed upstairs muttering, "Why dontcha just get a damn bullhorn? I bite my thumb at you, sirrah."

Julia was waiting in the doorway.

"You ready to go?" Willie asked yawning, but he could see the doctor was still wearing her lab coat and Barnabas was lying on the examination table.

"Come in, Willie," the woman instructed, ushering him through the door. "I need a volunteer."

"But I thought—"

"Let's not waste time. Please lie down on the other table and roll up your sleeve."

"What for?" he asked suspiciously.

Julia prepared the intravenous needle. "You and Barnabas are going to exchange some fluids."

"O-oh, no—" the young man did a U turn and reached for the doorknob.

"Willie, do as you're told," the vampire ordered from where he lay. There was a resigned tone to his voice.

"You should be honored; you're going to be part of a very exciting experiment," Julia guided him to the table and sat the reluctant man down. "I have isolated a mutation in Barnabas' blood. Now we're going to transfer some of that blood to you and see if your body absorbs it, rejects it or kills it. Likewise, Barnabas will receive some of your blood to test his body's reaction."

"Ya know, he's already received a lot of my blood, " Willie said as the woman rolled up his sleeve and tied a tourniquet around his arm. "What if ya put his blood in me and I turn into a vampire?"

The doctor chuckled at his naiveté. "Don't worry, that's impossible. We're talking about a pint; it's a very small amount. Your body's defense system will most likely kill the mutation."

?Willie tried to imagine globs of blood monsters battling in his veins. "Or that other thing you said, _reject it_, what does that mean?"

"Make a fist. My theory is that the mutation will be _destroyed_, and we will have the cure. I'm sure of it." The doctor thumped the inside of Willie's arm.

"Then what? You'll take _all_ my blood and put it in Barnabas ta kill his mutant things? Well, I-I'm still usin' it."

"Lie down and relax your fist."

"So far you haven't denied anythin'."

"Willie!" Barnabas snapped from the other table. "Stop giving the doctor a difficult time and do as she says. That is an order."

"I don't wanna be a volunteer," he muttered, cringing as the needle was inserted.

"Did you finish the volume I gave you?" _Great._ He was attached to one bloodsucking machine and the other one wanted to hold a book club meeting. But, perhaps a distraction would be a good idea.

"Yeah, pretty much. I skipped some 'cause it was hard ta understand, but I got most of it. Tie-balt was a real punk. And Mercerito(5) was funny 'till the other guy stabbed him, then he got pissed and put a plaque on both their houses."

"Plague."

"Whatever." He looked over to the adjoining table. "You said it was a love story."

"Quite so. It is the greatest love story of all time."

"Well then, people should have sex, not get killed. Here, everybody's dead in the end."

"They died for love. It's a heartbreaking tragedy with an important moral lesson."

Willie shook his head. "That don't make any sense. You can't _die _of love. They died because the messenger screwed up. And the moral is: Don't kill yourself unless you're sure your girlfriend's not just takin' a nap." He pushed from his mind the memory of Christmas Eve, when he almost slipped off the edge of Widow's Hill grieving for Maggie Evans.

Barnabas discretely returned to the previous topic by correcting Willie's pronunciation of character names. He went on to quote some of his favorite soliloquies and passages. A short while later, with poetry swimming in his head, the servant started to doze.

If Barnabas got cured, he wouldn't be a vampire anymore; he'd just be a normal guy. Well, normal for Barnabas; he would still talk funny and carry a cane for no good reason. But that would mean Willie wouldn't have to be his slave anymore. Maybe he could even leave. _Shit, why not?_ Barnabas couldn't stop him. He could go . . . where _would_ he go? Willie had never been on his own. Yeah, well, maybe it was about time he grew up and became independent. After all, he _was_ a quarter century old.

The handyman could get himself an actual job. If you didn't count sailing the tramp steamers, he had never had gainful employment before. Maybe he'd even apply for a social security card, get an authentic driver's license, a bona fide passport. With no history of legal documentation, Willie sometimes felt like he wasn't a real person. Certainly no one would notice if he dropped off the face of the earth. That's was probably why Dr. Hoffman wanted to steal his blood. They could bury him next to Jason . . .

He could take that test that was like graduating from high school.

And then he'd get a job—doing what? Willie pictured himself filling out an application at McDonalds. _Yeah, I got plenty of work experience: hustler, con man, pickpocket, blood donor, vampire pimp, assistant kidnapper, coffin carpenter, ladies' maid—and now guinea pig. I can also fix water pumps and rocking horses._

With a new life and a new job, he could even marry Maggie Evans. Maybe, if she was crazy enough. He pictured her crouching in a corner, drooling into her straightjacket. The young man knew from experience that Dr. Hoffman's magic medallion could reduce you to just that. He thought a lot about driving out to Wyndcliffe to visit her. She wouldn't remember him, of course, but Willie could tell her that they had dated once; they had had a romantic picnic on the floor of his bedroom. The mention of this would awaken the girl's dormant desire and, mixed with his unbridled passion, they would do it right there in a padded cell . . .

_Dear God, will you please close your door? Have you no modesty?_

_Sorry._

It was, on occasion, quite awkward to have a boss who could see and hear your every thought.

When she was ready to be driven home, Julia woke Willie and told him to sit quietly for fifteen minutes and eat a candy bar before heading out. Upon his return, the reluctant volunteer checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror, just to make sure he still had one.

* * *

(5) Tybalt and Mercutio, characters in _Romeo and Juliet, _Willie Shakespeare, 1652


	7. Interuption

_**Synopsis**__: Willie is in the wrong place at the wrong time, hears the wrong thing, and draws the wrong conclusion, leading to the wrong outcome. Just like Romeo and Juliet. Only different. _

* * *

Willie's second AA meeting was even more boring than the first, mostly because they did pretty much the same stuff. He wasn't sure if the cookies were worth it, even if they were the kind from the baker shop. It _was _worth it, though, to get out of the Old House once a week, away from Dr. Hoffman's nosy questions and Barnabas bellowing his name throughout the house.

So Willie dutifully endured yet another hour of drunk stories. He particularly paid attention to the young lady who used to repeatedly wake up in strange men's beds. It was a shame that she was sober now. He was fortunate that night to snag a seat next to an end table since it was difficult to balance his coffee and all those cookies without spilling or getting crumbs down his arm cast. His plaster prison was itchy enough as it was.

All this talk about booze just made Willie think more about the drink he was going to enjoy on his way home, and he hit the door the second the Serenity Prayer was over.

Buzz wasn't at the Blue Whale that night, and neither was Harry. Not that Willie had much to say to Mr. Johnson, he was just looking for a familiar face. It would have been nice to discuss some of his newly discovered literature with Buzz, and maybe show the young scholar that he wasn't a complete moron.

Willie sat at the end of the bar, ordered rum and listened as a crazy old boozer bent his ear about Jimmy Carter ruining the economy and the morals of our nation. The topic held no interest for the servant, and he had no opinion on the subject. Willie had never seen the inside of a voting booth.

"Just one more! Just one more!" The sound of chanting was heard from the other end of the bar. Willie looked up to see Sam Evans pounding his shot glass on the counter and Sheriff Patterson, trying to subdue his friend.

_There's a guy who should be in AA_, thought Willie. The sheriff conceded the artist could, in fact, have one more round before going home. It seemed that Mr. Evans always had a buzz on or was rip-roaring drunk, as was the case at present.

_Yeah well, maybe he drinks 'cause he's sad. His daughter was kidnapped, and now she's in a rubber room with no memory._

"But it'll soon be over now, eh George? You'll see. It wasn't a mistake to bring her home. Every day she remem—"

"Sam!" Patterson interrupted, then continued in a whisper. "What's the matter with you? Keep your voice down."

"Sounds like you have a lead in the kidnapping case," the bartender interjected. "Think you'll catch the guy?"

"I'm afraid not, Bob," the sheriff quickly replied. "It's just Sam, he's still torn up about it all; you know how he gets."

Mr. Evans, in his bereavement, had migrated to the dance floor.

"_Cel-e-brate good times, come on!_ . . .  
_There's a party going on right here . . .  
Cel-e-bra-tion_—pretty soon, we're going to have something to celebrate, right, my man?"

"Alright, that's it for you." The sheriff helped his inebriated friend into his coat. "Say goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight, Sam!" the artist replied as Patterson led him out the door. "Which way did they go, George? Which way did they go?"

Willie threw back his drink in one gulp, gagged on it, and sat in stunned silence. The old geezer at his side continued to jabber, but he heard nothing of what was said.

Maggie was home, not in the hospital. Dr. Hoffman had said she hypnotized the young woman so she wouldn't remember the ordeal she had suffered at the vampire's hands, but it didn't work! If Maggie remembered being held prisoner at the Old House, everything was royally fucked. Willie threw a dollar on the counter and ran out of the bar.

He sat behind the driver's wheel of his white pickup truck. The young man had precious little experience making decisions that involved ethics or moral conscience. But what he did know was this: He was bound by blood to protect his master, and that meant Willie had to warn him of the impending disaster. On the other hand, to do so would endanger the life of the woman he loved, because if her memory returned, Barnabas would have to kill her to protect his identity.

Willie closed his eyes and in his mind entered the corridor that connected himself and his master. He heard heated voices and looked in Barnabas' door to see Dr. Hoffman and the vampire quarreling in the parlor. Barnabas already knew. Of course he did, this mind-reading game was a two-way street. The monster was panicking, pacing the room in a fury, his doctor following with soothing tones in an effort to placate.

_You failed me, doctor. Maggie Evans will now pay for your blundering with her life. _

Willie could not clearly hear the doctor's response, but she seemed to be telling him it was impossible for the girl's memory to return. It had to be a trick—a trap to lure the kidnapper out into the open, but the vampire could not afford to take that chance and would not be dissuaded.

Willie opened his eyes and stared at the snow filled street through the windshield. He had already suffered through the thought of Maggie's death once. After discovering that she was alive, there was no possible way he could do it again. But he could not prevent Barnabas from killing the young woman, if that was his intention, nor did Willie think he could talk him out of it.

_God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,  
The courage to change the things I can,  
And the wisdom to know the difference._

He started the truck and drove to the Evans' cottage. Willie parked a block away and bolted to the house. Somebody was awake upstairs.

_What light through yonder window breaks?_

He considered a strategy for climbing up to Maggie's balcony, not to proclaim his love but to give warning, to save her life. _His_ Juliet would not suffer an untimely demise.

_The orchard walls are high and hard to climb  
and the place death, considering who thou art  
if any kinsmen find thee here. _

Was that Barnabas talking in his mind, or was he just remembering the master's recitations? Willie looked around the still blackness. No kinsmen in sight.

_Hey, I got night's cloak to hide me from their eyes._

The vampire, however, was another matter. For him, darkness was an asset, not a hindrance. And if he already knew Willie was there, there was no time to lose. He grabbed hold of the rose trellis, devoid of flora at this time of year, and started to climb. In a moment, however, the young man was back on the ground.

The damn arm cast prevented him from getting an effective grip. _That's it! _He had had enough of that stupid thing getting in his way for weeks now, and started yanking ferociously at the protective gauze until the surrounding plaster started to crack. Encouraged, he tugged and ripped until the shell was forced apart and fell to pieces on the ground. What remained was a crumbling bracelet on his forearm. Willie briefly regarded his newly freed limb; it looked skinny and white in the pale moonlight, like a bone. He wiggled his fingers, though, and they seemed to work fine.

_With something's wings did I climb up these walls,  
for stony limits cannot hold love out,  
—unless you got a burglar alarm. _

Again he began to ascend the lattice framework, blocking Barnabas from his thoughts as best he could. Later, he would tell the vampire how he could quote Shakespeare and that he understood the meaning a lot more.

"Maggie?" he whispered, tapping on the French doors to her bedroom. There was no answer but he found the door was unlocked. As he lifted the latch a gust of wind blew both doors wide open with a clatter. Inside the room sat Maggie Evans in a sturdy upright chair facing the balcony entrance, a steely expression on her face and Sam's enfield hunting rifle in her hands.

She fired at point blank range, hitting Willie in the shoulder. The young man clutched at the wound as blood seeped through his fingers. He stared at her in confusion. "Maggie—"

She focused her gaze down the barrel of her weapon, methodically aiming her next shot with more care. It shattered his clavicle and the intruder grasped at the door frame for support. The third ripped open his chest and tore his heart asunder, its momentum propelling Willie back onto the balcony. The fourth shot sent him backwards over the rail where he landed on the cement patio. The fifth and sixth shots fired into the air.

Willie remained conscious on the ground for almost a minute as a pool of blood spread like a crimson blanket in the snow beneath his head. Even after everything went white, he heard the approaching sirens, until they too faded to nothing.


	8. Interchange

Chapter 8 –_ Interchange_

_**Synopsis**__: Willie earns the honorary title of the Comeback Kid. _

* * *

Willie opened his eyes. He was in his bed, buried under the sheet. It was pitch black, disorienting the young man because he usually left his oil lamp to burn all night.

That had been a horrible dream, calling to Maggie, reaching out to her as she fired round after round into him. They had locked eyes. She recognized him, but with trance-like determination, continued to cock back and shoot until every shell was spent.

He tossed aside the cover and attempted to sit up, groping for the night table. Instead his head came in contact with hard, cold metal. This was not his bed. Willie's hands moved above him, then to the sides, where he realized he was in a very small, enclosed space. _Okay, stay calm._ There could be any number of reasons why he was locked inside a metal box, however none of them were desirable. Willie knocked, then banged on the steel plate above him.

"Hello!" He had no idea what else to say. "Uh . . . help?" Silence. Darkness.

Willie didn't want to waste what little air was in this confinement so he lay still and closed his eyes. His next thought was to call to Barnabas for help, and his mind took him to the mental corridor he shared with the vampire. Sometimes the candles shone brightly, sometimes dimly. Now they were extinguished and Barnabas' door was closed.

Willie turned to his own door, which was closed as well. He threw it open to reveal a brightly lit room with metal tables. A woman in a lab coat stood at the counter writing notes on a clipboard. It wasn't Dr. Hoffman, this was a sturdy, broad-shouldered blonde in her late twenties. She walked over to a wall of large metal drawers and pulled one out.

At first the light was blinding. Willie squinted and looked away from the ceiling, shielding his eyes. Then slowly he sat up and looked around. He was in some sort of lab or operating room, sitting in a human filing cabinet, wearing nothing but the sheet that covered him and a tag tied to his big toe.

The lab assistant looked up from her notes and gasped, "Oh my God!" The two stared at each other for a moment, Willie clutching his sheet in fright and bewilderment. The woman cautiously approached him.

"It's alright," she said slowly and soothingly. "You're in the Eastern Maine Medical Center in Bangor. You were pronounced dead on arrival—" she referred to her notes, "—two weeks ago. Don't worry, that happens sometimes, very rarely, a person can be in a deep coma and seem dead."

The woman checked her clipboard. "You're William Loomis?" Willie nodded; his eyes were like saucers. "Hi, I'm Kate. You're probably in a state of shock right now. I want you to stay right there and I'm going to call for a doctor." Then she did a double take at his incident form. "Wait, you took a bullet to the heart and one to the lung. You were definitely dead."

Willie looked down at his chest where shredded skin had been crudely sewn together with thick, black thread. He shrugged. "I feel okay."

"Wow. Wait until Dr. Simmons sees this." She reached for the door.

"No, wait, don't go." He started to climb off the slab and Kate rushed back to grab him.

"You shouldn't move till the doctor comes, but I have to leave to get him. And I'll bring you a hospital gown to put on. I bet you're cold."

"No, just kinda hungry." He untied the tag from his toe.

Kate put her hand to his forehead. "You feel like ice. I'm going to call for some blankets—"

Overcome by a strange, new instinct, Willie held her still with a penetrating stare. He took the lab assistant by the shoulders, laid her down on the slab and climbed on top. Kate resisted initially but the large-framed girl was subdued with surprising ease, and his newly formed canines grazed her neck until they found their target and he penetrated. The fledgling vampire withdrew his fangs and bolted upright with a sharp gasp as an intense shudder ripped through his entire body.

The young woman went limp, her blue eyes staring ahead, spellbound. At least she wasn't whimpering like Maggie had when Barnabas bit her, or kicking and yelling like Willie himself was known to do. This was the most pleasurable sensation he had ever known. The new vampire gathered the victim into his arms and ran his tongue along her neck to capture the dripping blood, then feasted lustfully from the perforations.

_Stop. Stop now or she'll die._ Willie forced himself to withdraw when every impulse pulled him to bring the act to its natural conclusion. The blonde woman lay peacefully in his arms, not conscious but still breathing. He lay his hand on her chest and felt her slightly elevated heartbeat. She looked beautiful, like a Viking princess. Willie removed her lab coat and put it on himself. Time for a hasty exit, as Jason would say.

Willie stopped to read the lab assistant's report. He had four gunshot wounds, resulting in tissue damage, a fractured clavicle, lacerated heart, and perforated lung. The fall caused a cervical fracture as well as a fractured femur, spine and skull. Sure sounded like dead. Barnabas and Dr. Hoffman had identified his body and released it to the authorities who sent it here for autopsy. Julia had signed the death certificate, which he pulled out, folded and stuck in the coat pocket. Willie finally had a piece of legal documentation with his name on it.

He also grabbed his toe tag and peeked out into the hall.

Willie wheeled an empty gurney down the corridor, hoping that would hide the fact that he had no pants or shoes, but no one seemed to take note of him. He pushed it out the emergency room entrance and slipped away into the early morning.

The young man was at a loss for what to do next as he wandered the deserted street. He was 50 miles from home with no car, no clothes and no money. Oh, and he was now a vampire, which meant he better come up with a plan before sunrise.

What would Barnabas do? Willie knew the answer: his master would never be in this situation. He'd have his servant pick him up in the truck, he'd have his gray wool suit on and a pocketful of cash. No, wait. He would change himself into a bat and fly home.

_Hot damn!_ He was going to _fly_. This vampire thing might turn out to be not so bad after all. The only problem was, he didn't have the slightest idea of how one might go about becoming a bat. Willie squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on metamorphosis.

_Think of the happiest things.  
It's the same as having wings.  
Think of all the joy you'll find  
when you leave the world behind_

That was a failure. Peter Pan's method did not work in this instance. And daylight was fast approaching. Willie ducked in the State Street subway station. The cashier was engrossed in a tabloid magazineandtook no notice as the young vampire vaulted silently over the turnstile and sprinted nimbly to the platform. There was a homeless guy asleep on the bench a distance away on the opposite track. Willie could not only see him clearly, he could smell him and hear his raspy breathing. The young man went in the other direction.

Now he was stuck in the subway for the entire day. At least it was winter, which meant sunset came early. People would come soon, boarding trains to work and school, and Willie would have to disappear, which was another thing he didn't know how to do. _There has got to be a class for this, or a book, or something_. He would ask Barnabas when he got home.

Willie jumped down onto the train tracks and walked into the tunnel. He could see clearly in the dark: doorways to maintenance areas, cat walks, alcoves where equipment was stored. There was an assortment of rats, cockroaches and mice, every surface was filthy and water dripped from the ceiling. _Just like home. _The young vampire settled in a cozy niche where he could spend the day unobserved, dozing and watching trains thunder past him.

_I guess Maggie did remember everything after all. She must really be mad at me. _


	9. Intermezzo

**Chapter 9 – **_**Intermezzo  
**__**Synopsis**__: Willie gets a new lease on life, as it were, as he explores the advantages of his new circumstances._

* * *

Willie was forced to remain in hiding well past sunset. Despite a persistent, gnawing hunger, the first point of order was going to be to get some clothes since he looked like a flasher in his filthy lab coat. During the day and early evening, the vampire had formulated a plan for accomplishing this and, around midnight, he came up onto the street via a workman's emergency exit.

The young man remembered the first night Barnabas was released into the modern world. He had returned to the mausoleum in a gray three-piece suit and wool coat. Without money, the vampire must have just walked into shops and taken what he wanted. So would Willie. And for once his wardrobe was not coming from Woolworths and Goodwill. He was going to Macys.

Maybe Willie couldn't fly yet or disappear into thin air, but he sure as hell could climb up the side of a building. Availing himself of a third story window, the vampire explored the various sections of the store. There was no need to turn on lights and the security cameras did not acknowledge him.

Willie left the retail area and checked out the administration offices. Attached to the president's office was an executive washroom—with a shower. Without a moment's hesitation the vampire gratefully shed his grimy garb and washed away a day's worth of subway soot and the antiseptic hospital smell. He flipped on the light to check himself out in the mirror. Oh, right. Never mind. He would have to assume he looked like the same old Willie Loomis except sewn together. The wound in his chest was still badly scarred but in the process of healing itself. He decided to keep the stitches there anyway because they looked badass.

Macy's first naked shopper then proceeded to assemble his new wardrobe from scratch. Item one: black Jockey briefs, like John Travolta wore. Item two: Calvin Klein Jeans, boot cut. _Boots!_ He wanted those Italian black leather ankle boots like Barnabas had and left a small mountain of discarded shoe boxes before finding a pair that suited him.

Next he invaded the shirt department in search of a silk button-down like he wore in Panama. They came in rich shades of teal, gold, olive and his favorite, burgundy, which is what he selected. Willie got a gold-buckled belt and very soft socks before the grand finale: a $300 black leather jacket. The only downside to this exclusive shopping spree was that he couldn't see how he looked in all this incredible stuff.

Climbing back down the wall, head first, was a lot more unnerving than going up, and Willie proceeded with trepidation. He also had his new clothes to think about; nobody wants a scraped jacket or scuffed shoes. He was almost at street level when he remembered. _Holy shit! _

Willie scrambled back up the wall, and the rough masonry ripped the knee of his jeans. He climbed back through the window and bolted up motionless escalator steps to the executive offices. The dirty lab coat was on the floor under a discarded bath towel. He rummaged through the pocket and retrieved his death certificate and toe tag. He also found a pen and lipstick. That was a close call. Willie was about to dump it all in the trash can then reconsidered, thinking it best to take the evidence with him. He revisited the men's casual section for a new pair of jeans, tossing the damaged ones on the floor, then found himself a suitable satchel into which he stuffed the coat and, once again, took his leave.

Willie was now prepared to hit the street and engage in some serious blood sucking. The sidewalks were deserted so, as he was in Bangor, there seemed only one logical place to go: The Vampire Club.

It was a light night at the establishment; Grandpa Munster tended bar.

"Hey, Gramps," Willie looked around. "Where's Vampirella?"

"You mean Stephanie? She gave her notice. The girl was taking college classes during the day and just graduated. Now she's going to be an actuary." Willie looked bewildered and Grandpa shrugged. "I don't know what it is either. What can I get for you?"

Willie was already gone. He had spotted a familiar face across the room and in a flash was sitting at the table, causing the Countess Elizabeth Bathory and her scrawny girlfriend to scream.

"You scared the shit out of me! Who the hell are you?"

"It's me, Igor, the vampire slave?"

"Oh," she examined him more carefully in the atmospheric light. "You're—different."

"You mean my new clothes?" he asked smugly.

"No, your skin's so pale and your eyes are weird; is that makeup?" Willie balked at the suggestion. "And what's with the hair? I like the spiky cut, but it's almost white."

He ran fingers through the cowlick mop. "I don't know what I look like. I don't have a reflection anymore."

The countess' eyes bugged. "You mean you're—"

"Yeah, I'm a bloodthirsty demon from hell." The vampire nodded as he leaned in. "And I can't stop thinkin' about you."

"Do you seriously expect me to buy that line?"

"Swear to God. I want you so bad right now, I can taste it." Willie turned her face to his. "Look into my eyes so I can put a spell on you. Can we go outside?"

"Slow down, buster. Buy me a drink first."

"I don't have any money, I'm a fuckin' vampire." He put his arm around the girl. "C'mon, I _need_ you, baby, please . . ."

"I'm not going outside, it's too cold." The countess rose. "I have a better idea. Come on, Mina."

"No, can't she wait here?" Willie whined.

"I am bringing my girlfriend. If you don't like it, tough."

The vampire and the countess did it on the sofa in the ladies' lounge while her companion guarded the door. Then the girls switched places, and Willie got a double shot. Afterwards he felt either exhilarated or exhausted, both actually. Elizabeth examined her neck wounds in the mirror as Mina styled the vampire's hair with a little brush from her handbag. The countess jumped when, not evident in the reflection, Willie was suddenly behind her.

"You better buy us drinks next time."

He put his arms around the raven-haired victim. "And the next time, and the time after that." He kissed her neck wounds. "But I gotta ask you a big favor right now."

"I'm not giving you money."

"No, not that. I, uh . . . need a ride home. It's really important."

"Why don't you fly? That's what vampires do."

Willie was thoroughly embarrassed. "This just happened to me yesterday, ya see, and I-I don't know how."

Elizabeth burst into laughter, Mina joined her, then so did Willie. "Igor, you're a scream. Alright, let's go."

The trio piled into the countess' Ford Pinto and cranked the radio. Mina tapped him on the shoulder.

"Igor's not a good name for a vampire," she said at a volume only a vampire could hear.

"You're right." Willie wasn't a good monster name either. It did not evoke fear and awe. "How 'bout _Mercutio_? He was a fun guy right up till the time he died. _Ask for me tomorrow and you will find me a grave man_. Get it?"

As per his request, the girls dropped him off on the outskirts of the village and Willie, full of energy and impervious to cold, jogged up the hill to the Old House.

A glimmer of light peeked through the drapes of the second story laboratory window. Good. That would make a fun entrance. Willie scaled the wall and quietly unlatched the tall window. Then he stepped gingerly inside and whipped back the velvet curtain with a flourish.

Barnabas and Julia spun around in shock. Dr. Hoffman emitted the gravelly contralto version of a scream as Barnabas leapt to his feet. Willie, with his new clothes and white hair, stood poised on the window sill, twirling the toe tag on his finger.

"Honey, I'm home!"


	10. Interesting

_**Synopsis**__: Willie returns to the Old House but the reunion makes it is clear that there will need to be a period of adjustment for the trio. Featuring Willie, Barnabas & Julia._

* * *

Barnabas was first, as usual, to regain his composure. "Oh, good lord," he sighed. "Willie, if _you_ are now a vampire, civilization, as we know it, is at an end."

"Call me Mercutio from now on."

"I will do no such thing. Close the window and come down from there. Just because you can now scale walls doesn't mean you have to, or that it's appropriate."

Willie tossed down his satchel and dropped to the floor. "I wanna learn how to fly."

"Oh, be quiet." Barnabas turned his attention to Dr. Hoffman. "Julia, this is an unexpected turn of events," he said with calibrated calmness. "It will no doubt make an interesting footnote in your medical report."

"Just a minute, I'm taking notes." Indeed, Julia was scribbling away in her journal. She crossed to Willie. "Open up," the doctor instructed, poking inside his mouth with a penlight. Then she messed up his hair checking the laceration, unbuttoned his shirt and examined the bullet wounds, noting her findings in the book. "When did this condition begin?"

_Condition?_ "Yesterday—no, last night. I woke up in the morgue."

"This should not have happened." Julia muttered with consternation, putting a stethoscope to his chest. "Take off your jacket."

"Really?" Willie retorted. "Barnabas fed me vampire blood on Christmas night, then you pumped in some more. What did you think was going to happen?"

"This is all new to us." The doctor rolled up Willie's sleeve and brought forward a hypodermic, but he quickly pulled away.

"Goddamit , woman, what is it with you and needles?"

"Willie, do as you're told for once," Barnabas said wearily. He stood by the window, withdrawn.

"I'll need to run some tests," Julia explained, taking back Willie's arm with her usual air of authority. "We must figure out why this happened after you were dead for almost two weeks." She drew her sample.

"It's takin' a long time for you to make Barnabas human again. Maybe it works like that the other way too."

The older vampire peered through the drapes. "The sun is about to rise."

"Do you want me to drive Dr. Hoffman back to Collinwood?" the young man asked.

"That won't be necessary. We have made other arrangements."

Willie stopped in the process of rolling down his sleeve. "Is there another little boy sleeping in my bed?" he asked warily, paraphrasing his childhood storybook.(6)

"What was I to do? You abandoned me." Willie recognized the beginning of one of the boss's rants, usually a list of grievances in which his heedless servant was invariably the culprit.

"For some unfathomable reason, you ignored my wishes by drinking in a tavern where you overheard things you shouldn't have. Then, in an act of seeming betrayal to me, you broke into Miss Evans' bedroom in yet another failed attempt to save a woman who shows her gratitude in very unorthodox ways. I hope finally your obsession with her has been quelled."

Willie lumbered into a corner by the armoire and slumped onto the floor. The master always knew just which verbal swords would deflate his delicate ego, and he was receiving no sympathy at all for being dead. "After being slaughtered as a result of your misguided bravado, there was no one to care for the house and watch over me in the day, so I enlisted the services of Harry Johnson."

"Fuck, no—anyone but him!" Willie jumped up, railing. "He's a stupid, cowardly criminal who drinks too much."

Both Barnabas and Julia gave him a look, their brows raised.

"What?" Willie scowled at the couple when they declined to respond.

"Oh. You think I'm being hypocritical," he sneered. "Yeah, I know that word, and maybe that's what I am, but you made a big mistake. I woulda picked Buzz Hackett. He's smart, and needs a change of scenery, and he'd really like the books in your library." _Then again, Buzz doesn't deserve a life like this._ Willie remembered when his employment at the Old House was far from pleasant.

It was becoming clear that his return was not a blessed relief but unexpected, awkward and inconvenient. They weren't even impressed by his cool clothes.

"There's not really a place for me here anymore," Willie added with quiet realization. "I should go."

The others did not protest as he buttoned his cuff, his eyes avoiding theirs. The young vampire knew he had nowhere to go. Despite frequent declaration to the contrary, Willie had always been better off when he had someone to tell him what to do and keep him out of trouble. Now, after all those months when he dreamed of breaking the bonds of slavery, he wasn't sure if he knew how to be anything else.

"Let's not talk of such things now," Barnabas assumed a lighter tone. "There is a second coffin in the cellar, and tomorrow is another night."

Willie silently donned his fine leather jacket and the two vampires retired to the basement.

The young vampire was not pleased to settle into the pink quilted casket lining, and he noted the intentional shoddy workmanship with which he had constructed the piece. This coffin had been built for Maggie, and Willie had hoped, if the boss found it unsuitable, it would delay his plans to kill her.

"Good day, Willie." Barnabas lowered the lid for his young companion.

"Tomorrow will bring new adventures."

"Indeed?"

"That's what ya always used to say to me when ya went to bed, and I closed yer lid."

Within a few minutes, Willie popped the hood open again.

"Barnabas? Are ya awake?"

"What is it?"

"Can I sleep with the top up?"

"Vampires mustn't be afraid of the dark."

"I'm not—well, not exactly. Not good with small spaces, though. And _yours_ is up."

"That is because I am in the process of becoming human." Willie pulled the coffin lid up and down several times, listening to the variations of hinge creaks. "Very well," Barnabas snapped. "Leave it open."

Willie restlessly shifted in his casket trying to get comfortable, but it felt weird. He used to sleep curled up in a ball in cold weather and sprawled everywhere when it was warm, but neither was now possible.

"Barnabas?" No answer. "You still awake?

"Now what?"

"I was just thinkin', if I'm a vampire now and you become human, then I could be the master, and you could be my slave."

"That will never happen."

"But why not?"

"Because I have said as much, and this is my house. Now go to sleep!"

"Yessir."

* * *

(6) _Peter Pan_, J.M. Barrie


	11. Interception

_**Synopsis**__: Barnabas tutors Willie in the art of the predator (for something other than coeds), but She Who Must Be Obeyed has other plans. Featuring Willie Loomis, Barnabas and Julia Hoffman as fanfiction's premiere dysfunctional family._

* * *

The following evening, Willie watched the moon rise from the top of the Old House. Frosty wind whipped his hair as he strolled along the roof, admiring the excellent vantage point a building atop this hill afforded. Through the bare trees the young vampire could see Collinwood, its electric lights glowing in the growing darkness.

He could see the fishing village below—hell, with this new, improved vision, he could pick out individual structures: the Blue Whale, the Episcopal church, the library, the town hall. He could see Eagle Hill Cemetery and the Collins mausoleum. With the power of flight, Willie could go to all those places, find himself a pretty little snack, and be back in a New York minute.

A colony of bats swooped past his head. He reached up and grabbed one. It fluttered as he cupped it in his hand.

"How do ya do it?" He asked the animal. "Teach me how to fly. I wanna play with the big boys." He tossed the creature back into the air where it winged away to rejoin its companions.

_What are you doing up there?_ Barnabas had been looking for him.

_Nothin'. Just lookin' around._

_What did I tell you about climbing the walls? Come down here now so your lesson may begin. Do you wish to reap the benefit of my knowledge or not?_

_Yeah! I wanna fly!_

_Heaven help us. _

Barnabas summoned Willie to the foyer and, as he put on his wool overcoat, informed the young man that this evening his formal training as a vampire would commence.

"Come. I will take you into the woods and show you how to bring down a deer for your dinner," he said.

"What?" That was not the assignment with which Willie wished to begin. "Eww, no. I don't want an animal," he whined. "I wanna girl. A pretty one with big—"

"You will have an animal or you will go without."

"But why?"

"I don't know why everything must be explained to you, or why I indulge your insolence." He took Willie by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Don't you think it would be ill advised for you to be seen in the village? According to the populace, not only did you abduct and attempt to murder Miss Evans, but you also died two weeks ago."

"I knew it!" Willie broke the older man's grasp as he stomped away, shaking his head. "I knew I was gonna take the fall for that kidnapping. Not fair, Barnabas!" The older man raised a brow. "Sir," he cautiously added.

"You assumed the blame yourself when you broke into the woman's bedroom. Now you must stay in hiding until we can figure out what's to be done with you." Barnabas retrieved his walking stick from the coat tree and straightened his coat.

Resigned, the young vampire joined his master on a nighttime hunting trip. The smell of mammals pervaded the air as they strolled into a thicket of trees in search of their evening meal.

"You must tread lightly, so that the sound of your footfall does not alarm your prey," Barnabas began his instruction. "Powdered snow is helpful, but be wary of brittle leaves and branches."

"Hey, I know!" Willie said, his voice echoing in the empty forest. "Maybe we could say it was another guy who just looked like me. The proof is—that guy is dead, and I'm not."

"Are you paying heed to what I say?"

"Tell 'em you and Dr. Hoffman made a mistake when ya did the ID in the morgue.

"There were other witnesses: Miss Evans, for instance, and Sheriff Patterson."

"But it was dark, and Maggie is a nutcase. And the sheriff, well—you could bite him, and then he'd have to do what you say."

"Or you could."

"Uh uh." Willie shook his head. "I am _not _gonna bite some fat guy on the neck. But, face it, you'll suck on anything: girls, boys, craggy old men, rats, cows—it's gross."

Barnabas stopped and put his finger to his lips, pointing to a young buck in the distance. It was gnawing the bark off of a sapling. The two stood silent and still in the moonshadow of an old oak as the mentor telepathically instructed his student how to approach and conquer the animal. He remained behind as Willie launched into a sprint of unnatural speed. The deer's head came up at the sight of the approaching predator, and sprang away.

Willie pursued the creature like a bat out of hell, taking flying leaps over fallen logs, the excitement accelerating his stride.

Eventually, the hunter's fleeting pace prevailed. He overtook his victim as he leapt into the air and landed on the animal's back like a rodeo cowboy. Then, grabbing its antlers, the vampire twisted and pulled it to the ground, sinking his fangs into the deer's neck.

Willie was forced to straddle the animal as it kicked and reared, its eyes bulging with fear. As he drank, the young man was reminded of the first calf he had procured for Barnabas, how he had stroked and comforted it. It seemed his compassion had dissolved with the rest of his human qualities, for his primary motivation now was the efficient disposal of a food source. The buck trembled violently under the vampire's restraint. That progressed into a seizure, after which the beast lost consciousness.

Within a few minutes, Barnabas caught up and joined the feast. "I no longer have the speed and endurance for such a chase." He almost sounded out of breath.

Willie spat out a mouthful of fur. "Ya look older than ya used to."

"I have begun to age as a mortal now."

"And I will stay young and live forever."

"Yes, Peter Pan. Finish your dinner."

* * *

Later that evening, they met with Julia in the Old House's upstairs laboratory, where she brusquely related the results of the exhausting work which had monopolized her day. Barnabas looked tired and gray as he sat by the window, contemplatively fingering the fringe on the draperies and watched as Willie explored the physics of stacking empty beakers of various sizes. Lack of sleep intensified the doctor's usual no-nonsense demeanor as she presented her findings.

"Willie is unable to become a bat or fly because he has not completely transformed into a vampire. I won't know for a while if this is a permanent situation or if he is in a progressive state. My suggestion is that we rescind our former identification of his cadaver—"

"Hah!" Willie shot a smug look to his master. Not only did the doctor agree with him, but he knew what all those words meant.

"—And that we immediately start him on the same course of treatment as you, Barnabas, and bring him back to normal."

Willie's head shot up from his task. "What? No, wait a minute. I-I don't wanna be normal. I like bein' a vampire."

"I believe you're in the right, Julia; that would be the best solution. Willie is far too unpredictable to handle the powers he now possesses."

"Hel-lo?" the young man waved his arms in the air. "Why are you guys talkin' like I'm not even in the room? Don't I get a say in all this?"

"We know what's best for you, Willie." Julia patted his arm in a condescending manner. "You're going to have to trust our judgment."

"No!" The young vampire shouted. "Barnabas, what's the matter with you? Why do ya always do everything she says? You promised ya were gonna teach me stuff!"

"You need to calm down, Willie," Julia approached him soothingly as Barnabas looked away.

"And you, ya crazy witch, you're not gonna treat me for anythin'," the young man snarled, backing away. "Every time ya come near me, it's a fuckin' disaster. And you dunno what's gonna happen. If I turn human again, I'll probably die because I don't have a heart anymore. . ." Then he realized what he believed to be their true motivation. "That's what ya want, isn't it? You _want_ me to die. _That's_ what would be for the best."

Willie bolted for the door but the doctor had anticipated his move and was already there, blocking his path. "No, of course not," she said sedately. "Your heart is regenerating itself, like the flesh over your wounds."

"Bullshit."

He turned and swiftly made for the window, but Barnabas stood and intercepted him.

"You're being irrational, Willie," the older vampire said. "This is the very volatility of which I spoke. Perhaps Mercutio (7) is an appropriate name for you."

The two circled each other.

"Outta my way, old man," Willie growled, baring his fangs.

Willie shoved his master aside and reached for the window. Barnabas, his ire raised, lifted his hand to strike the servant, but the other grabbed him by the wrist, his eyes flaring and jaw clenched.

"You're not gonna do that to me ever again. I don't like it." The older vampire attacked with his other hand, but Willie caught that as well. They struggled, arms locked in a midair wrestling match.

"You will obey me!" Barnabas thundered.

"No, I'm not your slave anymore."

"Neither are you my equal." Willie's superior strength won out, and he pushed the older man into a chair.

"Damn straight," the former servant replied with a smirk.

"Willie, please, listen to me—" Julia grabbed him by the shoulder. As he spun around, the doctor struck him on the face with a silver crucifix she had procured from her handbag. The young vampire yelled as an X burned into his cheek and he passed out on the floor.

* * *

(7) Mercutio's name is related to the word _mercurial_, meaning, _having an unpredictable and fast changing mood_. Source: Wikipedia.


	12. Interdiction

_**Synopsis:**__ Willie runs afoul of the other members of the Old House. Let the games begin, and may the best hellhound win. _

* * *

Willie woke up lying on one of the examination tables, unable to move. He had been tightly strapped into a straightjacket that was fastened to loops on the sides of the slab. Why the hell did Dr. Hoffman have a straightjacket here? Did she pull it out of that black medical bag of hers like some sort of demented Mary Poppins?

His vision, so finely tuned of late, was now blurred, and his head felt fuzzy. Julia had undoubtedly administered a sedative, which she was known to do at the slightest inducement. The young man struggled to recall how he got in this situation, but the details became diluted as he drifted in a dreamlike state.

Turning his head to the window, Willie saw a faint glimmer of light peek though the drapes, indicating daylight hours. He turned away, hoping the light would not travel across the room to him as the day progressed. He saw strange hallucinogenic shadows dancing on the wall as he drifted back to sleep.

Willie next awoke to see the back of Dr. Hoffman. She was across the room, bent over someone he assumed was Barnabas, but he couldn't see what they were doing. The young man raised his legs and brought his feet down on the table with a bang, thus commanding the attention of the others in the room.

"And how is our patient today?" Julia crossed to him and smiled pleasantly. "You had us worried for a while. I'm sorry I had to subdue you, Willie, but you were presenting a danger to Barnabas and yourself." Out came another tube of her damn ointment, which she applied to the burn on his cheek. It was already beginning to fade.

"Lemme outta here."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. You're very sick." She brushed the hair away from his eyes with apparent affection.

"Whadda ya talkin' about?"

"Oh, dear boy, don't you remember? You came home claiming that you had died and come back to life as a vampire. You must admit that sounds a little crazy."

"But I did. Ya know I did." Willie stared in disbelief.

The doctor adopted a warning tone. "If you continue to talk that way, we will have no choice but to commit you to Wyndcliffe as a mental patient."

Willie was speechless. He strained his neck to see his boss sitting by the window. "Barnabas. Help me."

"We're trying to help you, Willie," the older man replied, looking rather uncomfortable. "We want you to get well."

"There's nothin' wrong with me—except that I'm dead! You two are tryin' to gaslight me!" The young vampire felt he should be strong enough to tear the cloth restraints but was unable to gain any leverage.

Julia had returned to his side with the medallion dangling from her hand.

"Oh no, I'm not doin' that again." He kicked the doctor away with a well aimed thrust to the abdomen and proceeded to bang his feet noisily on the stainless steel slab. "Liar . . . slanderer . . . traitor!"

"Restrain him!" Julia snarled, her bedside manner gone as she clutched her solar plexus. Barnabas rose and bellowed out the door for Harry, who entered the room a few minutes later with a length of sisal 3-strand rope.

He happily followed orders to bind the patient's ankles each to a table leg, rendering him, from the neck down, completely immobile. Willie knew it was pointless to continue yelling and struggling, but did it anyway just to piss off everybody by the only means available to him. When Willie had sufficiently exhausted himself (and that took a lot longer than the others would have wished), Julia tucked down his jeans and injected another, stronger sedative in his hip.

When next Willie awoke, Barnabas was standing behind him, holding the sides of his head. There was a sharp pain in his neck.

"Be still," the older man said softly. "It is imperative that you do not move."

"Whas goin' on?" Willie whispered drowsily.

"Young Harry has volunteered to give you a blood transfusion. The doctor had to run the intravenous insert into your neck. You mustn't dislodge the needle."

"Why do I need a—thing? I can just drink it."

"It's part of the experiment, remember?"

"I thought ya said that was all in my magic nation . . . im—ag—ination." He corrected himself with slurring syllables.

"Just lie quietly now."

"Barn'bas?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared. I don't wanna die. Not again."

"You will be fine. Everything is for the best."

"In this best of _all_ possible worlds."

* * *

Willie was alone in the dark, awake and lucid. He heard the door open, the generator crank up and the overhead lights flip on with blinding intensity. Harry stood over him with a tray in his hands and a sadistic grin on his face.

"Nobody wants to eat alone. I thought you could keep me company."

"Whatever I can do to keep ya entertained," Willie replied drolly.

Harry set the tray on a rolling table and pulled that, along with a high stool, to the patient's tableside.

"Actually this is supposed to be for you, but I can't figure out what you want now, people food—" he indicated a Styrofoam container, "—or vampire food."

Willie could smell chicken and French fries. He could also smell human blood, which was stored in a plastic pouch with hospital markings.

"Well, if you're not hungry, I am," Harry concluded from the other man's lack of response. He picked up a chicken leg. "Sure you won't try some? It's _yummy_." The new servant stuck it in Willie's face, leaving a smear of grease on his cheek, before devouring it himself.

"Tell you what, we'll share the fries. One for you—" Harry flicked one at Willie's head. "—One for me." He popped it in his mouth. "One for you—one for me—one for you—"

Willie lay on the table in miserable silence. Harry, who looked like he was hoping for more of a response from the young man, picked up the blood container.

"Maybe this is what you want, huh? Little vampire? I could pour it in your mouth." Willie tried to conceal the emotion on his face. "But that wouldn't help you get human, would it? And that's what we're tryin' to do here. On the other hand, I'm thinkin', why should you have all the fun? I better drink this too." He downed the contents.

"Didn't ya hear?" Willie suppressed his initial reaction and remarked casually. "It's all in my mind. There are no vampires."

"Ya know better than that," Harry laughed rudely. "You loony. Barnabas sure was lucky I came along to replace ya."

"I bet ya make him a fine bitch." Willie smiled back.

Harry climbed up on the table and cuffed him across the face until he got bored with the activity. "You don't talk disrespectful, not when I'm here and you're there, or you'll end up bein' my bitch, understand?" When Willie didn't respond, he grabbed the young man's hair and bobbed his head up and down. "Good."

The new servant walked away, looking about the laboratory. "It's so dreary in here, don't you think? We need more light." He drew back the drapes, letting sunshine spill in through the window and across the floor. Willie hollered and whipped his head to the other side. The direct light did not hit the examination table, but it was very close.

"I'm just tryin' to help you out here, buddy, and you are _not_ cooperatin'." Harry tsked. "You're never gonna get better till you stop doin' these vampire things."

"Close 'em! You're gonna kill me!" Willie continued to yell frantically.

"Oh my, I thought this would happen, so I came prepared." Harry pulled a piece of duct tape off the roll on his tray and put it over Willie's mouth. "That's better. Ya know, I was thinkin', drinkin' that regular blood's not gonna help me, it's gotta be _vampire_ blood. . . like yours." The servant smiled crookedly. "So, do ya mind helpin' me out?" He leaned in to the prisoner's face. "Sorry, I didn't hear you. . . Oh, you will?" He roughly pinched Willie's cheek. "You're a pal."

Harry pushed Willie's head to one side, made a small incision on the patient's neck with one of the doctor's scalpels and sucked blood from the wound. The younger man squeezed his eyes shut in disgust. He wanted to cry, but vampires didn't have tears to shed, so he imagined himself somewhere else, somewhere pleasant, like on Widow's Hill, tossing this guy off the cliff.

When he had had his fill, Harry took his tray, flipped off the lights and abandoned the vampire to face the approaching sunlight. Willie realized that his heart must have repaired itself because he could feel it pounding in his chest.


	13. Interplay

_**Synopsis:** Willie proves once again he does not play nicely or get along well with others. Some people in this world are gracious and forgiving toward their transgressors. Willie isn't one of them.  
**A/N:** I decided to combine these two short chapters and now it is one very long chapter. _

* * *

Willie opened his eyes to see the draperies seemingly close themselves. How did that happen? It didn't matter, at least now he was safe. The ghost of Sarah appeared at his tableside.

"You mustn't open the curtains during the day," she chided him. "You know that's not good for you."

Willie made a muffled sound. The child fingered the edge of the duct tape and ripped it off his mouth with one swift stroke.

"Oww!" he yelled. "You are one strong little kid."

"What are you doing?" she asked innocently.

"I got stuck here by mistake. Can ya help me? Could ya untie those knots here and down there?" he indicated with his head the cloth restraints and the rope binding his feet.

She examined the sloppy, complex knotwork. "I don't think so. It's too hard." The tiny specter shook her head.

"I betcha could. Ya can do anythin' if ya try hard enough."

"Then why don't you do it yourself? Why don't you try hard enough?"

Willie took a deep breath and pulled at the straight jacket with all his might. It made the binding and the knots tighter.

"I have to go now," the little girl said. "I'm looking for David. If I bring him here, maybe he can set you free."

"No, don't tell David. It'll get him in trouble."

"I'm sorry I cannot help you." The ghost disappeared.

If he were Barnabas, Willie could evaporate and reappear somewhere else. So, why not? Dr. Hoffman had said his powers might still be developing, that is, unless they were being sapped by that human blood she pumped into him. The vampire concentrated on making himself disappear. He felt he could do it if he tried hard enough.

* * *

At sunset, Harry reentered the laboratory swinging a belt. He cracked it on the table next to Willie's head and demanded to know how he had gotten the tape off his mouth.

"Sweated it off," the vampire answered casually, being careful not to flinch. "Tape don't stick to sweat."

The servant started to close the drapes then realized they were already in position. He turned to Willie.

"What the hell—how did you do that?" Harry doubled the belt and slapped it against his palm.

"I'm sorry," Willie apologized. "I know you really want to kick the crap outta me, but you don't get it that I'm dead, and it just don't hurt like it's s'possed to."

Harry threw the belt away in disgust. "Well, that sucks. _And _you can close the curtains." Willie nodded remorsefully. "But, if you're so damn powerful, how come you're still tied up?"

"Ya got me. There I am completely at yer mercy. So, cheer up; ya can still starve me if ya wanna." Johnson shrugged begrudgingly. "Hey listen," the prisoner continued with a note of urgency in his voice. "Lemme get up, will ya, please? Just for a minute. I gotta take a leak."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, right."

"If ya don't, I'll piss my pants. Ya don't want that."

"And why don't I want that? It'd be a hoot."

"Because _you'd_ have to clean it up."

"Yeah, right. Or ya could just lie there in it."

"Ya obviously don't know Barnabas and Dr. Hoffman like I do. Julia won't have anythin' contaminatin' her lab, and the old man, well, he's got the most sensitive nose in town. I'm tellin' ya, you'll be sorry."

With a look of confliction, Harry pondered the possibilities, then he released Willie's feet from their bonds.

"That's all you're gettin'," he said uncertainly.

"Well, you got a choice. You can take off this straightjacket, or you can come in the bathroom and hold it for me."

"Fuck, no." Harry undid the table straps then stopped abruptly. "I don't know about this. I better ask the boss." He ran out the door.

Willie rolled off the table and landed on his knees on the floor. This was his last chance and it had to be quick. He closed his eyes and concentrated with every fiber of his supernatural being. Like when a limb falls asleep, his body began to tingle as it partially dematerialized, and became pliable enough to dislocate his shoulders and slip his arms out of the straightjacket. He shook the restraint to the floor, returned himself to solid form and scanned the room for a weapon.

Willie picked up the discarded belt but decided _no, not bad enough_. He settled for a wooden broom propped up in the corner, snapped off the straw end, and waited until Harry returned.

"Barnabas said you—" The air was knocked out of the new servant as Willie swung the pole like a baseball bat straight into Harry's gut. He doubled over in agony. The vampire aimed the next blow to his back, and the larger man went down, whereupon Willie pummeled him with the stick.

Harry screamed, fumbled to his feet and flung himself into the hallway, his attacker in pursuit. When the vampire swung the handle across the back of his legs, Harry went to his knees and fell down the steps. Willie dove after him, losing the broomstick in the process, and, locked together, the two tumbled down the staircase like a snowball.

Harry continued to howl as he crawled across the foyer into the parlor. Willie walked behind him, waiting for the right moment. He kicked the servant onto his back, pounced on top, and viciously choked the hysterical man.

Barnabas, in his dressing gown, looked up from where he was enjoying a light supper by the fire.

"Please stop fighting, you're disrupting my meal," the master sighed.

Willie took his hands off the servant's throat, but when Harry began to yell again, slammed him across the face. Barnabas walked over and poked the younger man with his cane.

"I said desist. That is enough." He pulled Willie up by the shoulder as the injured party slithered out from underneath. Willie stuck out his foot and tripped Harry as he stumbled from the room and bounded up the stairs.

"What is the meaning of this?" Barnabas inquired irritably.

"Nothin'. Just bitch-slappin' the servant."

"I am his master, not you."

The young vampire shrugged. "He can be the servant of two masters.(8) Ya have that book in yer library."

"Not if you're going to treat him like that."

Willie's jaw dropped. "But that's not fair." He flopped into a chair, pouting. "You hit me all the time, and didn't feed me, and locked me in a dungeon."

"You were difficult to train. And stop exaggerating, it was a wine cellar," Barnabas took out his handkerchief and wiped the chicken grease from Willie's cheek. "A poor choice of punishment as I recall."

"Why don't you punish _him_? He started it."

"Because he follows instructions and doesn't lie to me or break things." Willie sprung from his seat and punched the nearest wall, crumbling the plaster. "And he doesn't destroy my property."

"I'm your property, that's what ya said, and he tried to destroy _me_."

"Must you hyperbolize everything out of proportion? It seems to me you were not the one harmed."

"That's only because he's a fool who doesn't know that vampires don't pee or sweat."

Julia Hoffman let herself in the front door, fussing as usual to prevent the head scarf from flattening her hairdo.

"Why didn't Harry pick me up at Collinwood? I—" She stopped in her tracks upon spotting the young vampire in the parlor. "Oh . . .Willie." She removed her gloves with deliberate dispassion.

"Oh . . . Julia," he returned mockingly. More than anything, he wanted to strangle her next. "I decided not to _volunteer_ for you anymore. I'm gettin' my stuff and my coffin, and I'm outta here."

"I can't allow that. If you take one step out that door, you'll be recognized. The whole experiment will be in jeopardy."

"Guess who don't give a shit."

"Let him go, Julia," the older man said. "He and Harry shouldn't be under the same roof. I have a feeling they don't get along."

"No," Willie retorted. "We don't play nice together, but it's my fault. I'm envious because he's such a better servant than I was."

The young man left the room and was halfway upstairs when he did a turnaround and stomped back into the parlor.

"Ya don't do that to people!" he railed at Julia. "Ya don't drug people, and tie 'em down, and not feed 'em for days and days. You're a bad doctor!"

"I was trying to help you—"

"_Help _me? Are you cracked?" Willie got in her face. She stood her ground with a steely expression but he could smell the fear. "And do you even _know_ what you're doin' to Barnabas? He's old as dirt." He searched his brain for the right words. "You are an ambitious, fanatical, crazy ass scientist; _you're _the one who should be in a straightjacket."

He looked over to Barnabas, who avoided the confrontation by pouring himself a tall brandy. Then Willie left the room. He paused briefly on the landing and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. In the corridor of his mind he looked into Barnabas' portal and the hybrid human gazed back but said nothing. Willie deliberately closed the door, blew out the candles in the wall sconces and walked into his own room, closing it behind him. There was now a substantial slidebolt on the door. The young vampire thrust it into the locked position.

* * *

_**Introspective**_

First stop was his old bedroom on the third floor. Fortunately it had not been reassigned to Harry. No, of course not, they probably gave him the bridal suite. He pulled his duffle bag from the armoire and stuffed it full of his old clothes. In the desk drawer he found a shopping list (some items had been crossed off by him, some by Barnabas), $1.15 in change, and a newspaper clipping announcing the engagement of Maggie Evans. He had cut the picture up the middle to exclude her fiancé, Joe.

Willie took the money but left the other things in the drawer. Maybe a hundred years from now, some other guy would live in that room and, although they weren't as good as German love letters, he wanted to leave something of himself behind.

He looked around the room for the last time. There was the corner where he had spent days sitting on the floor by the window after Barnabas had beaten him so badly and scarred his face. There was the fireplace in front of which he and Maggie had had a picnic with rum and pineapple juice and roasted wieners. There was the bed where he had shivered each night in as many layers of clothes as he could stuff himself into.

It was time to leave.

Willie stopped at the second floor bathroom to claim his toothbrush and straight edge razor. He wasn't sure if he still needed them, but they were his. As he left the room, Harry Johnson came tearing down the hall with a battle cry, brandishing the broomstick handle. Willie stood in the doorway and, as Harry lunged, effortlessly disarmed him of the pole and tossed it aside.

"Loser," Willie said as the man screamed and ran away.

Willie walked down the hall to the crazy lady's laboratory where he retrieved his leather jacket and satchel, still lying on the floor beneath the window. He peeked inside to confirm its contents were still in place: one death certificate and one toe tag. Check and check.

Willie went down the back stairs to the basement. In the kitchen, he hopped up on the counter to reach the tallest cupboard where he had hidden his razor strop from Barnabas. He heard shuffling below and, opening the cabinet, saw a hoard of vermin invading the larder. That idiot Harry hadn't learned not to store soft packaged foods in this old house. Willie snatched up a fat rat and veraciously chomped into the soft underbelly. Its bones shattered with a sickening crunch as blood splashed over his face. It was not his ideal meal but Willie was famished and even a repulsive rodent was preferable to any of the humans in residence at present.

"You dirty rat," Willie wheezed, imitating his favorite movie star.

He tossed the carcass in the corner and crossed to the sink where he primed the pump until water gushed out. Running water—was that something he should avoid? Willie decided that he was confusing vampire lore with the Wicked Witch of the West and proceeded to wash the blood off his face.

In the central room, Willie gathered his belongings and tossed them in Josette's coffin. He would leave the tools behind. Some Barnabas had purchased for him, some he had bought along with the pickup, but he couldn't remember which were which. His eyes fell on a handful of wooden dowel rods. So, that's where Barnabas had found that skinny stick.

The jewelry box was also on the work table. How stupid, to leave something valuable sitting out with that petty criminal in residence. Willie returned it to the secret cache in the wall. He hesitated, though, before replacing the loose stone and removed the chest again, opening the lid. Barnabas sure did have a lot of shiny treasures; no wonder he was so rich.

Willie held up the diamond necklace that Maggie had worn, the ruby lavalier, the sapphire earrings. The young man remembered how she looked dressed in Josette's gown and bedecked in those fine jewels. Near the bottom of the box, the vampire pulled out a solitare diamond ring, puny and plain next to its glamorous neighbors. It was Maggie Evans' engagement ring, the one she had given to him. He pushed it onto his little finger and put away the box.

Back in the main room, there was a problem: how to carry the cumbersome coffin by himself; what it needed was a grip. Willie looked around for a solution and spied the handles on Barnabas' casket. With the claw of his hammer, Willie attempted to disengage one from its home, but the ancient hardware crumbled under the strain. _Congratulations, ya broke somethin' else_.

Willie rummaged through his possessions and pulled out the leather strop. With four nails, he secured the two ends to the head of his coffin and created a handle. With that, he hauled the wooden box upstairs.

The trucks keys were not on the hook in the butler's pantry. Irritated that he would have to speak again to those people, Willie stomped down the hall to the parlor but no one was there. He heard the power generator pumping above him and shot up the stairs.

The other three were in the laboratory, engaged in another of the mad doctor's blood swapping rituals. At the sight of the young vampire, Harry cried out from where he lay on the examination table, but Julia patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"Where are the keys to my truck?" Willie demanded.

"Harry has them, of course," the doctor responded. "We gave the pickup to him after you died."

"Ya can't do that. It's _my_ truck." Willie rounded the equipment to where his boss lay on the other table. "Barnabas, tell 'em."

"Actually, the vehicle is mine," Barnabas replied.

"No, it ain't. I had that truck when I came to town."

"Yes, but you purchased it with money stolen from your mother. Since I reimbursed the woman, the truck belongs to me."

The vampire snorted, "How am I s'possed to get my stuff out?"

"You could stick it up your aaaah—!" Harry finished his sentence with a shriek as Willie barreled back to him with a raised fist.

Julia wedged herself between the two. "You have to leave now," she said, her jaw set.

Willie left, but not before he punched a hole in the wall by the door.

"Ya better fix that, Harry," he said and slammed the door behind him.

Willie sat on the top step and buried his face in his hands, unsure of what to do. He could hot wire the truck, but that's a pain to do every time you wanted to start the damn thing. He didn't know where he was going, anyway. Maybe just keep driving and driving . . . until the sun came up.

He trudged down the stairs and was dragging his coffin towards the front door when Barnabas descended the staircase.

"I see you made yourself a handle. Very clever," the old vampire said.

"It's my strop. I wanted to leave it behind so ya could clobber Harry sometime."

"That's very considerate. You do realize that your casket is marring my floorboards?"

Willie looked behind him to see a trail of scuff marks leading from the basement door.

"Sorry. . . I might as well let ya know, I also broke the handle on your coffin when I was tryin' to take it off."

Barnabas looked at the other vampire, shaking his head. Then he handed Willie the truck key. "Bring it back after you have transported your belongings."

"Thanks," the young man said begrudgingly.

"Where will you go?"

Willie sat on his casket. "I dunno."

"You may use the secret room in the Collins mausoleum if you wish."

"Okay, I could do that. Wait—you're not gonna come in there durin' the day and chain up my coffin, are ya?

"I hadn't thought of it, no."

"Well, don't tell Harry or the witchdoctor where I am, okay?"

"No, I shan't." The master smiled sadly as he shook the young man's hand. "May good fortune attend your endeavors."

Willie looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. You too."

As Barnabas prepared to return upstairs he hesitated for just a second and grasped the banister to regain his balance.

* * *

(8) _Servant of Two Masters_, Italian Restoration comedy by Carlo Goldoni, 1743


	14. Interval

_**Synopsis**__: Willie adapts to his new independent life, runs into old friends, and learns the Dewey Decimal System. How can he be bored?_

* * *

The tranquility of the secret room was certainly not disturbed by any form of entertainment or activity. Four stone walls, one coffin on the floor and one tall candlestick, that's all there was, besides the satchel and a duffle bag of worthless junk. Willie never would have believed it while living at the Old House, but he missed doing chores, listening to Mrs. Johnson ramble, having long discussions with the old bloodsucker, or reading convoluted volumes and looking up the big words in a dictionary.

Now, his nightly routine seldom varied. Upon rising each evening, he took himself to the public library, which was a great place to meet college girls, and they were his meal of choice. There he would hang out in different sections, depending on his preference, thumbing through books until someone tasty came along. He knew which types majored in psychology, political science or music theory. When the pickings were slim, he headed over to Fiction and lingered by the Stephen King or Anne Rice collections.

When the library closed, Willie would haunt various enterprises where single women might be found as they left beauty salons, shops and grocery stores, walked their dogs in the park or jogged along the docks. He sensed spring was coming; folks weren't bundled up as much and they stayed outdoors longer.

The hours from 10 pm to 2 in the morning were spent at the Blue Whale. There were rarely unaccompanied ladies there, but that was okay; he had almost always dined by that time. Willie sat alone each night in a dark corner, watching the townsfolk chatter, drink and dance. No one bothered him or recognized him. He was always on the lookout for his new friend, Buzz, but the young man must have had more important things to do. Maybe he was married now. Occasionally, Maggie Evans would stop in with her father or boyfriend. The vampire would retreat farther into the shadows and observe with quiet intensity.

After last call, Willie would walk back to necropolis and sit on the mausoleum's front steps or rooftop until sunrise. His companion was an oversized marble angel perched over the doorway, holding a sword in her lap. He studied the constellations Jason had taught him and practiced his developing skills. The disappearing thing was getting much easier but flying was still a bloody disaster. The young vampire could now transform himself into a bat but graceful flight continued to elude him. The wings were oversized and ungainly, and refused to perform in a synchronized manner. He sputtered on the ground in circles or slammed into trees and tombstones. Once he was nearly carried off by an owl.

When the sun peeked over the horizon, Willie went back to his boring little room and climbed into his coffin. Being a vampire was not quite as exciting as he thought it was going to be.

Willie woke with a lecherous appetite for a dramatic arts major that evening. That meant loitering in the .790 and .812 stacks. He could quote some _Romeo and Juliet_ and then take her behind the newspaper rack. The young man looked down at his clothes. He'd have to get new ones soon. These were dirty and wrinkled, and starting to look shabby.

The vampire opened the stone door to his secret room. He jumped back with a started yell at the sight of David Collins sitting on Sarah's tomb throwing a ball in the air.

"Oh, hi, Willie!" David threw the ball against the wall and caught it. "Is that where you live now?"

Willie stuck his head tentatively back into the main section.

"Ya know about this room?"

"Sure, Sarah showed me. That's where they used to keep the vampire. Are you a vampire now?"

"Uh, yeah . . . kinda." Willie thought it over. "You okay with that?"

"Oh, Willie," David explained as if stating the obvious. "I grew up in Collinwood. My mother is a phoenix and all my friends are ghosts. A couple of vampires are not that big of a deal."

The young man shrugged. "Guess not."

"Anyway, I'm glad you're not dead." David tossed the ball to Willie, who threw it back. "I mean dead dead."

"Does Miss Winters know you're out in a cemetery alone at night?"

"She's on a date, and nobody else cares, so I went out to play."

"Are ya lookin' for that little girl?"

"Sarah's outside. She's taking a walk with some man who's teaching her a new song."

Willie peered through the iron scroll gate. The semi-transparent figures of little Sarah and Jason McGuire strolled hand in hand among the tombstones.

"Oh, God. I hope it's not the one about whores in Calcutta—wait here, David." Willie left the tomb and approached the mismatched duo.

"_I'll take you home again, Kathleen  
Across the ocean wild and wide"_

"Hey, Jason."

The specter looked up and flashed the blarney grin at his former partner.

"Willie, m'lad! So we meet again on the other side. It seems the font of our friendship will not run dry."

The young man remembered all too well the lecture Barnabas had bestowed the night Jason had been dispatched. "You were never my friend. Friends don't do things like you did."

The dead Irishman sent Sarah off to play with David so the grownups could talk. He sat on a grave marker.

"Ah, say that you forgive me, lad; don't be holdin' a grudge."

"I think about ya sometimes. I think about diggin' up your grave and hackin' at your corpse with the shovel and then drop kickin' the pieces off a cliff."

"After all we've been through together, why would you say a thing like that?" The spirit looked aggrieved.

"You were a greedy, thievin' liar, and you used me." Willie's fist aimed for the ghost's jaw, but it sailed through the air, knocking him off balance.

"I looked after you, son, for ten long years," Jason corrected him. "Did the monster tell you to say that? He's the one who abused ya, not I, before doin' away with your old man in cold blood. Oh, you shouldn't have let him do that."

"I ain't your son, and you deserved what ya got. I couldn't a' stopped him anymore than I could stop you when ya broke my hand."

"I admit now, I should've heeded your warnin'," the apparition conceded.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Come, walk with me. 'Tis lonely without me old sidekick."

"I don't wanna walk with you, and I don't want ya to come around here." He strode purposeful steps back to the mausoleum, shouting over his shoulder. "And don't go near them kids anymore. You're a bad influence!"

Jason dematerialized and appeared in front of Willie, crippling his gait.

"Stop that!" The young man shouted. "Get outta my way."

"I know somethin' you don't. You're not the only fish in the pond, Willie."

"What do ya mean?"

"Nor the only vampire in the graveyard." And with that, his dead partner disappeared.

Willie scratched his head. What the ghost said made no sense. If there was another vampire in town, Barnabas would've known about it. It was a small community.

The young man sniffed the air and soon pinpointed the scent of rot coming from the west. He followed the smell to a small, modest mausoleum (nothing like the grandiose Collins crypt) and found the gate to the entrance open.

"Hello? Anybody home?" He cautiously peeked inside. The place reeked of putrefying flesh but no vampire answered the door. Inside he found a marble tomb with the lid ripped off and lying in the corner. The wooden casket inside was open and empty. A decaying corpse was heaped in another corner, obviously the original tenant of the box before it was appropriated.

So there was a new kid on the block. That could be a good thing, but most likely, it was not. Vampires were not by nature friendly, social creatures. In fact, they tended to be rather territorial. Willie wondered if the other bloodsucker knew about him.

* * *

_**Intermediary**_

Willie was in the library when the headline caught his eye: _Murder Mystery Continues_. He sat down and read the article, which went on to relate the story of a possible serial killer in Collinsport. Every day the mangled remains of another young woman were found with the blood drained from her body. The possibility of ghouls and satanic rituals were mentioned. Now there was a curfew in effect for the town, and ladies were strongly advised not to go out alone at night.

_Shit!_ This ignorant newbie was ruining the playing field for everybody else. Why did he have to go and kill them? That was dangerous and wasteful; a living victim can provide another meal someday. He spotted a policeman patrolling the building, asking questions of the patrons and checking their IDs. _Shit shit shit._ He evaporated and slunk out the door. There was another cop in the park and yet another at the Blue Whale. Willie went home hungry.

"It's that new feller causin' all the brouhaha." Jason's ghost was standing next to him as vampire entered the graveyard. "The whole town's got their knickers in a twist."

"What does even mean? And why are ya followin' me? I told ya to fuck off."

"Oh, I knew you weren't serious. You always had a mean little temper." Willie groaned in exasperation. "Besides, I can't wait to tell you about me new plan. It's goin' to make us rich."

"Jason." Willie looked him in the translucid eye. "You're dead, and so am I. There's no more scams, and the money's no good to ya."

The Irishman sighed. "I know it. I'm pinin' for the old life, is all."

"I hear ya. Sometimes I want a smoke or a drink, just 'cause I remember that it used to feel good."

"I miss me old sea chest."

"I miss my truck."

They walked together for a short while.

"It was a fine plan, too," The spirit remarked.

"They always were. Well, mostly."

"I was wonderin' if you'd be willin' to do a favor for your old partner."

"No, I told ya, ya can't pull no crazy cons. You're gonna haveta get another hobby."

"It's not that; It's about me sea chest. They still have it up at Collinwood, stored in a locked room in the basement."

"So? Go visit your chest if ya wanna."

"It's like I'm not welcome there. There's somethin' there that stops me from crossing the threshold. Would you get it for me, Willie?"

"What for? Ya can't do anything with it."

"It would be a comfort to me, and you can keep whatever's inside." He smiled slyly. "Who knows, may be somethin' of use to you."

"I dunno, Jason. How would I even get in?"

"I see you need some honin' of your craft. Can ya not vaporize yourself and go where ya please?"

"Yeah, but how will I get the chest back out? That ain't gonna vaporize. And how will I know where to find it?"

"There I've enlisted the aid of wee Sarah and David. They're waitin' for you on the rear terrace at Collinwood."

* * *

The children were there as McGuire's ghost had predicted.

"David," the vampire said reprovingly. "Don't you ever go to sleep?"

"Sure," he responded. "During my school lessons."

The elder chuckled. "That's okay. I used to do that, too."

Sarah and young Collins led him into the dark house and to the basement room. There is a fine art to cracking the code of a padlock, which Willie ignored, ripping it off the bracket and tossing the twisted metal aside. In the room, the little girl took him directly to where the sea chest, covered in cobwebs and dust was stashed among the other storage items. Willie then sent the children off, and he toted the trunk quietly out the back door and to the cemetery to it reunite with its owner.

Jason was not to be found upon their return. Willie plunked the chest down in his vestibule and twisted the lock until it broke and fell off the latch. That's what he gets for not waiting. He lifted the lid.

He found old guy clothes. Big deal, they weren't his size or style, but he needed clean duds so he took out the turtlenecks . There was a bottle of Irish whiskey, Cuban cigars, hair oil, shaving equipment, black hair dye and a fake Rolex watch. Jason had conned him; there was nothing here of interest to a vampire. Wait—he found some books near the bottom: James Joyce, William Butler Yeats, Edmund Burke . . . nobody that Willie ever heard of, but he thought he might take a stab at reading them anyway to pass the time.

Willie was about to repack the case when an old memory returned. He knocked on the inside floor of the sea chest, then removed the false bottom. His eyes bulged at the sight of wrapped packet after packet of $100 bills. Nestled in the cash were select pieces of Elizabeth Stoddard's jewelry that the Irishman had pilfered. Jason hadn't been leaving town broke, he had a goddamn fortune. But the crook had been greedy and wanted to rob Barnabas too. It had been a costly error in judgment.

Willie took what he wanted and left the chest for Jason in the main room, on top of Naomi's tomb. Then he climbed into his coffin and dreamed about what he would do with his sudden windfall. The next evening Willie stuffed his satchel full of cash and jewelry and walked to the railway station, where he hopped a train out of town.


	15. Interjection

_**Synopsis:**__ Death takes a holiday. _

* * *

From the Bangor train station Willie hired a cab to take him to the airport, where he booked a first class seat on the next flight to New York City. The reservationist looked suspiciously at the strange young man who paid with cash in large denominations, but there was no law against it, and soon her apathy prevailed. The vampire dined on a flight attendant in the souvenir shop while waiting for his plane to board. One hour and twenty minutes after takeoff, Willie was in the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps.

He roamed the streets of Manhattan for the rest of the night, enjoying tastes of a chorus girl, a stockbroker, a hooker (he paid her), and a lonely housewife he found in the bar of a comedy club. This city was like an all-you-can-eat buffet. He even saw two other vampires on his travels; they simply smiled and nodded in recognition as they passed, like a professional courtesy. One of them was a drag queen.

Willie partied until the wee hours, and some nightclubs were still open when he was forced to leave and take refuge for the day. He booked a room at a nice looking hotel on East 42nd Street called the Helmsley Palace. The bedroom was lavish, but Willie felt safer in a more confined space, so he slept in the tub.

Around 10 that morning, the bathroom door opened and the overhead light switched on. Willie woke and squinted up to see the chambermaid standing in the doorway with her cleaning trolley.

"¿Senor, qué estás haciendo?

Willie motioned for her to leave. "No molestar; vamos."

"Hombre loco," the lady muttered to herself before closing the door.

* * *

The next evening Willie bought a map of New York State and rented a luxury car from Avis. He felt a twinge of guilt about lifting a wallet on the way there, but he knew he was going to have to present a driver's license and a credit card for the deposit, even if he was paying cash. Afterwards, he dropped the billfold in a mailbox where hopefully it would be returned to its owner. Funny, he thought, how people change.

It took three hours to drive to Schenectady, and shortly after midnight he arrived at Richard Harrison's house.(9) Willie looked up at the dark building. It was a spacious split level with a manicured yard, the kind of house Lyddie deserved to live in. There was a Chevy in the driveway and two bikes on the patio. The vampire scaled the wall and climbed in the bathroom window which was cracked open.

He silently entered the master bedroom and watched his mother sleeping for a long while; she was still the prettiest girl in town. He wanted to kiss her cheek but was afraid she might awaken. On her night table he placed Mrs. Stoddard's emerald pin and matching teardrop earrings, in which the stones were surrounded by tiny diamonds. He remembered that green was her favorite color.

"Happy Mother's Day, Lyddie," he whispered.

Willie crossed to the other side of the bed and, for the first time, saw his stepfather. He had always imagined a tall, stern man with a square jaw like Burke Devlin. But this guy didn't look big at all; he had kind of a baby face, wavy brown hair that was graying at the temples and a moustache. On Big Dick's nightstand the vampire put a fat stack of hundred dollar bills.

"That's for all the cash you put out lookin' for me. Take good care a' my mom," he said to the sleeping man.

Willie tiptoed out and went down the hall. In another bedroom he found a golden haired princess of about six years, sleeping in a mountain of ballerinas and bears. The unicorn and rainbow plaque on the door read _Jocelyn_.

The next bedroom was labeled Ricky. His bedroom sported a definite Star Wars motif, from the Darth Vader area rug to the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Little Dick had blond ringlets, rosy cheeks and the face of a cherub. Willie wished that he had brought something for his half brother, but it was probably okay. From the collection of toys piled onto every surface, it seemed the child lacked for nothing.

The young man was about to leave when he heard a buzzing sound and turned to see Little Dick sitting up in bed with a glowing light saber in his hand.

"Are you a burglar?" he asked with a child's simple curiosity.

"Nah, this is just a dream," the vampire replied.

"Why am I dreaming about you? Are you—?" The boy pointed to the poster behind him.

"I'm Willie." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Didn't ya ever wonder what yer older brother was like? Well, now yer havin' a dream about it."

"I knew you would look like Luke Skywalker. Mom doesn't have any pictures of you so I made her one." He scrambled out of bed and removed the drawing from his Millennium Falcon bulletin board. "You can keep it. It made Mom cry."

"Dick, I-I mean Ricky, I hope you're not a rotten kid like I was. Make her happy so she don't cry anymore." Willie checked out the picture. "Is this me? Hey, I'm a good lookin' guy. Wish I really had one a' them swords." He carefully placed it in his satchel.

"Light saber," the youngster corrected him. "Why don't you ever visit us?"

"I can't—I live too far away. I travel all over the world and have adventures."

"Will you send me something?"

"Prob'ly not; you got too much crap as it is. Now go back to sleep."

"I am asleep. This is my dream."

"Whatever. G'night."

Willie turned off the boy's light saber, returned it to the Yoda doll and tucked in his little brother before squeezing back out the bathroom window and returning to his automobile. He had just enough time to drive back to Manhattan, return his rental car and settle into his luxury bathtub before dawn.

* * *

The following evening, Willie sent out his good clothes to be dry cleaned and asked the concierge to help him locate a seller of antique books and rare first editions. He was referred to Bauman's on Madison Avenue.

The bookseller laughed at him. "You're looking for a first edition of _Candide_? Try the Metropolitan Museum. Something like that would be priceless." The vendor pointed to his display case. I can show you a finely illustrated Swedish copy from 1946 that goes for $300."

Willie shook his head. The only Swedish he knew was how to ask for vodka or a blonde.

"Can I perhaps interest you in a Dickens? It's inscribed by the author."

Willie decided to try another shop instead where he found what he considered to be a suitable substitute. The young man then hunted down a fine wine shop where he purchased the oldest bottle of the stuff available: it was called Domaine de la Romanee Conti and cost even more than the Rothschild 1870 that he had drank.

The young vampire returned to his hotel room where he carefully stowed his valuable purchases in the satchel, had his clean clothes delivered, watched some TV, drank the blood of a chambermaid, and checked out. It was time to go home.

* * *

(9) Richard Harrison ("Big Dick") was the man Willie's mother, Lydia, married while Willie was away at school. Willie saw their son Richard, Jr. ("Little Dick") once as an infant. See _Little Willie_, Ch. 3, _Globetrotters_, Ch. 5


	16. Intercession

_**A/N: **please see Chapter 1 for notes.  
__**Synopsis:**__ Who says you can't go home again? Well, Jason said it once, but there was a warrant for his arrest, so he really couldn't. _

* * *

The Old House looked dark and empty. There was no fire or candles burning and the front door was unlocked, but Willie knocked anyway before letting himself in.

"Hello? Barnabas?" His voice echoed down the hallway. There was no response except the shuffling sounds of a rodent in the next room.

Harry Johnson turned out to be a pretty crappy servant after all. This revelation came as no surprise to Willie as he noted the layer of dust on everything and cobwebs beginning to form in the corners. There were no rats in the parlor when he had worked there. Upstairs he investigated the abandoned laboratory and second floor bedrooms which were accumulating mold on the ceilings because no one had replaced the buckets under the leaky roof.

He smelled a human. There was someone in the house, and it wasn't Dr. Hoffman or Harry. He peeked in the master bedroom and saw a solitary figure sitting in a high back chair by the dead fireplace.

"Barnabas? Is that you? Why ya sittin' there in the dark?" There was no response. He put down his satchel and placed his hand on the old man's arm. "Are ya sleepin'?"

"Who's there?" It was a quivering ancient voice.

"It's me, Willie. I come to see ya."

"Ah, Willie, how thoughtful of you." He patted the vampire's sleeve with a skeletal hand.

"I'm gonna light a fire and some candles. Hold on."

Willie thought he looked bad in the dark, but was positively repulsed at the illuminated sight of his former master, previously noted for his impeccable grooming and grace. Barnabas was more than 100 years old, feeble and emaciated, sitting in that chair for God knows how long in a filthy dressing gown. The young man pretended not to notice.

"If you're gonna be human now, ya need to take a bath, and when was the last time ya had somethin' ta eat? Ya look like a damn scarecrow." The old man sighed sadly but Willie was indignant. "Who the fuck is s'possed to be takin' care a' you?"

"Harry Johnson is dead. He broke into Julia's pharmaceutical bag one day after she left and overdosed on barbiturates."

"Yeah, no loss there. So where is the acid queen? She did this to ya and then just took off?"

"Dr. Hoffman was committed as a patient to her own sanitarium."

"Hah!" came out of Willie's mouth before he could stop it. He suppressed an evil grin. "Sorry."

"She became unnaturally obsessed with the experiment, trying to correct whatever it was that caused me to age as I did. Genetic engineering, she called it." The old man wheezed momentarily, then continued with effort. "The woman refused to leave the laboratory; she wouldn't eat or sleep. Finally Harry carried her out and put her in an ambulance."

"Karma's a bitch," Willie snorted derisively. "I hope she was in a straightjacket."

"We mustn't be unkind," Barnabas chided the young vampire. "We all do what we think is right at the time, however misguided that may be."

"Not everybody is nice, Barnabas. You're such a Pollyanna."

"I do not know what that means."

"Don't matter." Willie produced his satchel and sat at the boss's feet. "I did some travelin' and brought back presents." First he presented the wine bottle. "Okay, this is to replace the really expensive one that I drank in the cellar. It's not the same kind, but it cost a shitload of money, so it's gotta be good."

The old man smiled at him. "Absolutely." Willie noted that most of his teeth were gone.

"Good. The other thing was s'possed to be that book, _Candide_. I tried to buy another one, but you can't get 'em anymore, not first editions, so I gotcha somethin' else." Willie reached inside the satchel. "Now, don't laugh, but ya got so many books, all the famous ones, I couldn't think a' one ya didn't already have—so here." He tentatively presented the gift.

Barnabas struggled to read the cover with rheumy eyes. "Batman? You bought me a comic book?"

"It's a rare first edition, very valuable. And be careful with it. Don't take it out a' the plastic sleeve, the oils from your fingers could stain the pages."

"Thank you, Willie, it's charming."

"Yeah, don't knock yerself out." The vampire said dismissively as he stood up and investigated the contents of the master's armoire. "Okay, let's getcha into some clean clothes. That robe smells nasty—and I told ya before, it makes ya look gay."

"Is that undesirable?"

Willie cautiously manipulated the old man's arms out of the dressing gown. "The smelly part is, yeah. The other all depends, I guess, on what floats yer boat. With you, who knows? In New York I saw another vampire walkin' down the street dressed just like a girl. He had these platform shoes that hadda be six-seven inches high."

"Why did you come back?" Barnabas asked as Willie buttoned him up in a clean shirt.

"I'm pretty sure I got somethin' called Stockholm Syndrome. I read about it in a psychology book in the library."

"Commendable, but what does it mean? Are you ill?"

"Just in the head." Willie put a blanket on the old man's lap, tucked it in and picked up the brandy bottle on the floor. "And no more a' this. Ya can't go drownin' your troubles whenever you're faced with unpleasant thoughts or situations. That's what ya told me."

"For someone who claims to be stupid, you have remarkable recall when it comes to—" his mind wandered off "—my own words . . ."

"Sometimes I am stupid, but I don't forget nothin', I even know a lotta Shakespeare by heart. Girls go for that." He watched as the master started to doze. "There's gotta be some way to get ya better, Barnabas . . . What if ya became a vampire again? I know ya really wanted to be human, but—not like this. I think if ya don't go back, you're gonna die. Ya don't want that, do ya?"

His eyes slowly opened. "I would see my family again: Mother, little Sarah, Josette. . ."

"Aw, crap, their ghosts are all over the place. You can see 'em any time ya want." Willie bit into his own wrist and then held it to the old man's mouth. "C'mon, master, it's suppertime. Drink up."


	17. Intersection

_A/N: please see Chapter 1  
__Willie plays cupid. Happy Valentine's Day. _

* * *

During Willie's absence, the Collinsport Ghoul as he was dubbed, flourished in his bloodthirsty quest and the body count was climbing. Now the word _vampire_ was being bandied about, and the graveyard was often crawling with policemen or vigilantes with shotguns and silver bullets, hoping to bring down the culprit.

Willie continued to hide out in the secret room and was forced to avoid downtown Collinsport altogether. Each evening he visited Barnabas and fed blood to his old boss before driving out of the area to satisfy his own needs. It would have been more convenient to move back into the Old House, but now was not a good time to be toting one's coffin through the town.

Each night he had to drive farther and farther to evade the watchful eye of the law. If this kept up, he would be back to bringing down deer in the forest again, except that the woods were also crawling with vampire hunters.

The vampire's blood revived Barnabas, and slowly he began to recover and reverse the aging process. Willie contemplated whether to tell Julia about what they were doing; would she be a help or a hindrance? It seemed to him that her medical theories were a load of crap, but she was a doctor, and with his delicate health, maybe Barnabas should be monitored.

With steely determination, Willie resolved to fly the 20 miles to Wyndcliffe without crashing into anything or being eaten by a larger predator. The trek was exhausting but ultimately so satisfying that the vampire dismissed his aching arm muscles as a necessary inconvenience.

He signed the visitor's registration book as Barney Williams.

Julia Hoffman was in the day room, seated at a table before an enormous jigsaw puzzle in which all the pieces looked jarringly alike. Soothing classical music played over the loud speaker. It was weird to see her in pajamas and a robe instead of her usual business suits and dress slacks.

"What's up, Doc?" he ventured when she did not look up at his approach.

"Almost finished." She furiously rearranged the interlocking cutouts. "If I can figure out how these last few pieces fit in the equation, I'll have the solution."

"What's that a picture of?"

"It's a polar bear in a snowstorm, you idiot!" she snapped.

"I went to see Barnabas. He was awful sick, but I think he's doin' better now."

"Barnabas?" Her head shot up and she saw the young man for the first time. "Willie, what are you doing here? I didn't call for you. Go back to your chores, and let me work in peace. I'm close to a breakthrough."

Willie sat in the chair next to her and spoke softly so the others wouldn't hear. "He got real old, Julia, he was gonna die, so I'm helpin' him turn back into a vampire. I-I didn't know what else to do." The doctor looked sadly at him. "I'm sorry your experiment didn't work. I wish ya could come look at him, and make sure I'm doin' it right."

"I had what they call a nervous breakdown, so I have to stay here a while longer. You take care of Barnabas for me, see to it that he gets well. How is your hand?"

"Christ, Julia, will you shuddup about my hand? It's fine." He looked her in the eye. "He needs _you_, and you owe him. Now, we both know you're a crazy bitch, but that don't matter. Barnabas thinks you're hot shit—and I know you're in love with him."

Julia's eyes lit up. "Does he really think I'm—what you said?"

"Absolutely." Unbeknownst to Julia, Barnabas was notorious, in Willie's eyes, for being pussy-whipped by every female who walked through the door, but he told Julia what he thought she wanted to hear. "So get your ass in gear and check out of this loony bin."

* * *

On his way out, Willie inquired at the desk as to a Eugene—what was his name? So much for his impeccable memory. The receptionist knew the patient because he was the nephew of Dr. Hoffman.

Gene was in the TV room, staring into space, medicated to the gills, but still healthier looking than when Willie had last seen him.

"Hey, Gene, remember me, Wil—I mean Igor?"

Gene flailed in Willie's direction. "He's back! I see him!" he shouted.

Willie pushed the young patient's arms down as the other residents howled, "Shut the fuck up, you filthy lowlife! It's _Final Jeopardy_!"

"Sorry."

Willie pushed his friend's wheelchair into the hallway and closed the door. When Gene started to tremble and cry, the vampire grabbed his shoulders.

"Stop that. Listen to me, you are not loony. Your aunt, she tried to do the same thing to me, but it's not true. I mean, it is true. I'm real and so is the vampire."

"They told me you would say that."

"Don't you remember when I came to see ya in the hospital? Did an imaginary person pay your bill?" Gene shook his head emphatically. "No, so you don't belong in this nuthouse." He crouched by the chair and lowered his voice as an orderly walked by. "But ya can't tell them you met a vampire. You gotta say what they wanna hear, so they'll think you're better. Then get off those drugs or they'll fry your brain, and get yourself outta here before your psycho aunt figures it out."

"This is for my own good. Aunt Jules wants me to get well."

"Yeah, I know better."

Gene reached out his hand. "I dreamed about you, and the vampire. It was the most wonderful night of my life."

"I thought Julia hypnotized ya to forget all that."

"I would never look directly at that medallion of hers. I'm crazy, not stupid." Willie smiled at the frail young man. "I'm so glad you came. Can I see you again when I get released?"

"I dunno," the other said. "It's complicated, 'cause the bloodsucker turned into a human and now I'm a vampire, and I—don't really have an address."

"I see." Gene looked deflated as Willie stood.

"Tell ya what, look for me at the Blue Whale; it's a bar in Collinsport. I go there every night."

"And will you bite me?" he asked hopefully.

"I-I was thinkin' we could just be friends. I could use a friend."

Gene smiled. "Me too."

"Good. I gotta go. Free hug." Willie, who was not good at the hugging thing, did it without being asked.

_Nice place_, the vampire thought as he flew home. _They have a TV room_.

* * *

Soon Barnabas had recovered sufficiently to stand up and move about the room with the aid of his cane. When Julia was discharged, she moved back to Collinwood but spent the daylight hours at the Old House caring for the elderly patient. Willie came in the evenings to provide dinner and read to him by the fire.

_The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha _was the story of an old nutcase and his faithful servant who had wonderful adventures. By the time they finished the 64 chapters, Barnabas was ready to move back into his basement coffin. For the final step of the transformation, Willie would have to feed from the master until he was dead.

"I dunno if I can do this," the young vampire said, feeling squeamish. "Me bitin' _you_ on the neck—is just too weird."

"We can do it this way, if you prefer." Barnabas proffered his wrist.

_Only slightly better_, he thought, but he didn't want to offend the old man. "I guess so. . ." Willie closed his eyes and chomped on his boss's arm.

By dawn, Barnabas had returned to his former self, straight backed and tall, his hair was dark brown, his eyes clear and sharp, and his face pale and smooth except for the characteristic frown lines that were ever present.


	18. Interface

_**Synopsis:** The residents of Collinsport exert their Second Amendment rights and take it upon themselves to hunt down the vampire terrorizing the town. _

* * *

Meanwhile, in the once sleepy little fishing village, security got even tighter. As the murders continued, Willie and now Barnabas were indeed reduced to feeding from woodland creatures. And even that often proved difficult as the forests were regularly patrolled.

"Hold it right there, you two!" They turned to see a small, blonde woman and curly-haired man approach them with loaded guns. "Just what are—oh, Cousin Barnabas, it's you," Carolyn said. "And Wi—Willie Loomis? I thought Maggie blew you to smithereens."

"Oh, that . . . turned out it was some other guy who looked like me. Even Mr. Collins here was fooled. So the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated," Willie said. "Mark Twain," he annotated the quotation to Barnabas.

"You dudes shouldn't be out here at night unarmed," Buzz interjected, lowering his rifle. "There's a maniac vampire on the loose. We're hunting him down." Willie looked at him incredulously. "It was her idea," he added.

"I have heard as much," Barnabas responded. "But I'm sure the killer prefers to victimize young ladies, not—_dudes_ such as ourselves."

"That may be the case, but no one is safe," Carolyn said. "And the police are useless, so we're taking the law into our own hands." She held aloft a hand gun which Willie recognized and backed away slightly. The last time he saw it was in the drawing room at Collinwood, and it was pointed at his pecker. Carolyn Stoddard takes shit from nobody.

"I should think hunting a vampire would be very dangerous," the older man warned. "You don't know what you're going up against."

"See, Carolyn, I told you," Buzz muttered through clenched teeth.

"And I told you not to worry, Bertram. I won't let anything happen to you."

The young man turned bright pink as he looked away, but Willie caught his eye. "_Bertram_?" he mouthed.

"Well, I suggest you get yourselves some guns and use these silver bullets. That's very important." Carolyn held out a handful but both Barnabas and Willie quickly withdrew their hands from view.

"Thank you, that won't be necessary," the older vampire recovered quickly.

"Just an idea," Willie offered, "why don't you look for him during the day and stake the guy in his coffin?"

"There are others trying to do just that. Personally I want to blow his head off," the young woman responded empathetically. Buzz snorted at her turn of phrase and Willie nodded in compliance, wondering briefly if she was that scary in bed, and whether or not that would be a bad thing.

"Let us not keep you then," Barnabas smiled. "God speed."

"Yeah," Willie added. "May good fortune—" he searched for the next word.

"Attend."

"Attend your endeavors."

* * *

"Willie!"

The vampire was behind the house taking pot shots at trees when Barnabas called to him.

"Come inside. What on earth do you think you're doing, and where did you get that firearm?"

"It's mine, I bought it. Gotta protect the homestead against evil doers."

"For which you would need silver bullets, and how do you propose to manage that?"

Barnabas ushered his handyman through the service entrance and into the hallway. "It's just for show," Willie explained, "so folks'll think we're like them, not . . . like us."

"In which case you do not need any ammunition." The older man held out his hand for the bullets.

"But, Barnabas, everybody else has one—"

"You're too careless. I will not be responsible in the event you actually hit something."

"That's why I need target practice." The young vampire had a thought. "If we can't touch silver, then how come ya have that wolf cane?"

Barnabas sighed. "The head is made of platinum. Stop equivocating and give me the bullets."

"I'm sorry I saved your life," Willie muttered as he relinquished the cartridges. "Ingrate."

"You will be very sorry if I hear that rifle discharge again. Now drive the truck to Collinwood and pick up Dr. Hoffman."

"How did I get to be the servant around here again? Just because I'm what's left since Perfect Harry treated himself to Julia's travelin' drug store."

"Mr. Johnson was far from perfect. You have many enduring qualities that supersede his."

"That's not what ya said before." Willie shook his head. "You sure are fickle."

"If you would rather I engaged a new manservant, you're free to leave." Barnabas turned away and retreated to the parlor, sitting in his favorite chair.

"I dunno." Willie trailed after him. "I was doin' pretty good—" _What the hell_. He dropped the pretense with a sigh. "I don't like bein' in the secret room," he admitted. "It's boring."

"Try doing it for 185 years."

The young vampire conceded the point and took his usual spot on the floor in front of the fire. He poked absently at the logs for a minute. "I guess I'd like to come back," he said quietly. "If that's okay."

"This is your home, Willie."

The servant looked up, taken aback at the unfamiliar phrase. _His home?_ It had been a long time since he had had a place to call home. When he had lived in the Old House previously, it was a prison, not a refuge. Even his own room, the master had informed him, was no sanctuary when he had been a slave. And now, Willie wanted to voluntarily return? He really was a sick puppy. On the other hand, the present situation was different, for Barnabas was definitely not the same vampire. Maybe the old man was going soft.

"Can I have a bigger bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Will you pay me a salary?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have always provided your necessities, not to mention luxuries like those expensive prefabricated logs."

Willie shrugged. He still had Jason's stash of cash if he really wanted to buy something, but here was the deal breaker. "And you won't hit me anymore?"

"Not if you don't break anything," Barnabas replied casually. "Oh, and do keep your fist from making contact with my walls in the future."

Willie rose to his feet and stood over the master. "Yeah, well listen, I'm not gonna be your slave again. It's dif'rent now, 'cause I'm a vampire too, and the last time we had a fight, I won. So, maybe you should be scared a' me."

"I shall remember to tremble in your presence. Now, and I do not like to repeat myself, you will_ please_ fetch Dr. Hoffman, after which you may retrieve your coffin. Be certain to cover it with the tarp so no one will see it."

"Yessir."

* * *

Even if Barnabas did boss him around, Willie was secretly relieved and happy to be moving back to the Old House and out of that stuffy tomb. As he drove the white pickup truck into marble town, Jason's ghost appeared in the seat beside him.

"Now what do ya want?" the young man demanded.

"Just a warnin' to take care, lad. 'Tis not a good time to be transportin' a coffin. The monster is on the loose and the graveyard is crawlin' with vampire hunters."

"I wish somebody would blow that pain in the ass off the planet," Willie muttered. "Did ya see where I left your sea chest?"

"Aye. And I see you helped yourself to me swag."

"You said I could. Ya got a shitload of money, and it ain't gonna do ya any good, so what's it matter?"

"I worked hard for that cash."

"Jason, ya never worked hard for anythin'," Willie laughed.

"You try cozyin' up to that ice cube of a woman. I earned that score and I want the pleasure of lookin' at it."

"There's plenty left. And I figure some a' that goes to me anyway. Share and share alike, right?"

"Heads up, mate," Jason held up a white finger, cautioning the vampire to be silent. The wrought iron gate to the Collins mausoleum was wide open, and inside someone was rummaging through the dead Irishman's sea chest, scattering its contents in all directions.

"Every man for himself," the ghost whispered and quickly evaporated.

Willie quietly went to the rear of the crypt and scaled the wall. Once on the roof, he trod softly to his usual lookout point. Below he heard the intruder continue to ransack the trunk. _Crash!_ That was the whiskey bottle; he could smell it. He could just imagine Jason weeping at the sight of his Tullamore Dew dripping down the walls.

Willie concealed himself behind the rooftop statue of the seated, sworded angel and observed a solitary figure below, walking among the tombstones. It was a small man, perhaps a teenager, in baggy pants, plaid jacket and hunting cap, the kind with a brim and ear flaps. He carried a long-barrel Enfield rifle. The gunman walked stealthily, searching in the moonlit shadows for the slightest sound or movement. The firearm was cocked as an owl flew by, and again when the wind rustled the leaves in nearby trees. The guy wasn't skittish, but he proceeded with caution.

"Hey, punk, who do ya think you are, posin' in my territory?"

With a start, Willie whirled around to see Harry Johnson standing behind him. The Collinsport Ghoul appeared a horrifying blue in the lunar luminescence, his red eyes glowed, and his body and torn clothes were matted with dried blood.

Willie sneered. "Who ya callin' punk? I'm a shanty Irish bastard, and you're still a loser."

Harry hissed, baring his fangs, and lunged at his adversary. Willie ducked to the side, causing the other vampire to crash into the statue, loosening it from its base. Quickly recovering from the impact, he again sprung at the younger man who kicked him in the nuts and, as he recoiled, delivered a crushing punch to the nose, then to the throat. That always worked on human opponents, but Harry was only temporarily disabled, and the two  
grappled and rolled across the gravel rooftop.

_Ker-blam!_

Willie was attempting to disengage the fiend's teeth from his forearm when a bullet fired from below hit the angel and sent a piece of marble wing flying through the air. Willie jumped up to catch it and whipped the jagged edge across his enemy's face, slicing it open. With a furious roar, the ghoul grabbed Willie and threw him across the flattop roof. He collided with the angel and the impact dislodged it completely, whereupon the statue plummeted to earth and was decapitated on a nearby tombstone.

Willie lost his balance and hit the gravel, almost tumbling over the edge. As he scrambled to his feet, the monster lifted Willie over his head and flung him to the ground below. He flew down in pursuit and towered over the young vampire, holding high the marble head of the angel with which he planned to crush his adversary.


	19. Intercourse

_**A/N: **please see chapter 1  
__**Synopsis**__: "The good ended happily and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means"—Oscar Wilde. _

* * *

Another shot rang through the night, and Harry Johnson's head exploded, splattering Willie with a shower of blood and gore before the topless body crumbled into a heap on the ground. He scrambled to his feet as the vampire hunter reloaded and approached him, cocking back his rifle to fire again.

But Willie was faster. He reached out and grabbed the weapon, throwing it aside. The gunman let out a little yelp and backed away.

"Maggie Evans," the young man shouted, "STOP SHOOTING ME!"

"Don't hurt me. . . "

Willie grabbed the young woman by the shoulders. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. What have I ever done to you? Why do ya think I would hurt you? You're the one who keeps pluggin' me fulla holes, when all I ever did was love you. Ya know, if you're not interested, there's a lotta other ways to tell a person."

Maggie broke his grasp and again backed away. "You what?" She looked confused.

"I love you. There, I finally said it. I always have. I will love you forever till the day I really die, and then my ghost will love you. So, please stop shootin' me."

"But you—you broke into my bedroom to kidnap—or kill me."

"Bullshit, I did not. I _knocked_ on the door. I was tryin' to warn you about the vampire—not this one, a different one." He pulled a piece of Harry's skull out of his hair.

"There's more?"

"Dontcha remember anything from the time when ya were kidnapped?"

"So you did do it."

"No! . . . But I was there." He sat on a tombstone, running his fingers through his unruly hair; then he wiped the goo from his hand on his pants leg. "I tried to help, but I-I didn't do a very good job."

"Willie, who was it?"

The young man sighed. "I guess you deserve to know the truth, so I'm gonna tell ya. But ya gotta swear that you won't do anything about it, like call the cops—or shoot anybody."

"I can't promise that. I won't."

"Then no deal. Here." He picked up the rifle and put it in her hands. "Go 'head and kill me, 'cause I'm just another vampire." Willie fell to his knees, pulled open his shirt, and guided the muzzle to the surgical stitches on his chest. "Break my heart, babe, just like last time. My life were better ended by thy hate than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. . . I dunno what prorogued means."

"What's that from? Did you make it up?"

"Nah, it's from a Shakespeare book where people die for love. I memorized all the good lines."

"Say something else."

Willie sat back on his heels and searched his brain for an appropriate passage. "Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear—stop stallin' and shoot if you're gonna."

Maggie hesitated. "If I destroy you, I'll never learn what really happened."

"That's right."

"But if I promise, a guilty man goes free."

"Yeah, I know it was kinda like a major felony, but I gotta tell ya, he's really, _really_ sorry about the whole thing. And if yer lookin' for revenge, don't sweat. You gave him such a hard time, he practically held the door open for ya to leave," he laughed. "You broke a lotta his favorite stuff."

Maggie lowered her rifle and pulled off the hunting cap. "Alright. Tell me about it."

Willie brought his beloved into the mausoleum and seated her on Joshua's tomb. He then excused himself and stepped outside momentarily. It had been a long time since he traveled down the mental corridor to his mind, but it was important to be certain that Barnabas wasn't aware of what he was about to do.

He peeked in the master's portal and saw Julia enjoying a cigarette. Wait a minute, Willie was never allowed to smoke in the house. She and the older vampire were in his . . . oh, God, no!

_Barnabas, for crissake, close your door! Have you no modesty?_

_I beg your pardon._

Willie slammed his own door shut and shuddered as he returned to the crypt and Maggie Evans.

And so he told her the truth, the whole truth—well, almost the whole truth. He cheated a little when he said that Julia had hypnotized Maggie to protect her from the vampire, when she had, he believed, done it solely for Barnabas.

True, it would have been much easier, much neater, to lay the blame on Harry Johnson (whose brain bits now dribbled down his torn leather jacket), but when you have a friend, or somebody to love, Willie reasoned, it isn't fair to bullshit them. So he told the truth.

"It's too much," Maggie said, shaking her head. "That was an incredible story."

"But that's what happened." He looked away sadly. "Now you prob'ly hate me 'cause I didn't help ya when I shoulda. I was such a chicken shit back then."

"No," she touched his shoulder. "I think I understand, and I don't hate you."

His head whipped around. "Then will ya go out with me?"

She was startled by the question. "N-no. I can't, Willie, you're dead. I'm sorry, but I don't date vampires."

The young man was undaunted. "Ya mean ya would if I wasn't dead? Really?"

"Maybe," she looked perplexed. "I mean, I guess so." Maggie smiled at the sight of his face as it lit up. "You were always my best tipper at the diner."

"I gotta go. I'll see you later." He ran from the tomb, turned around and raced back. "Wait. What about Joe Haskell?"

"We're not engaged anymore. It seems he gets very nervous around guns, and this baby goes with me everywhere."

"Good." Willie pulled the engagement ring from his pinky and handed it to her. "Give that pansy-ass his pitiful little ring back. I'm gonna buy ya a rock so big your hand'll drag on the ground."

* * *

Not bothering to drive around to the service door, Willie burst through the main entrance of the Old House.

"Julia!" He yelled. "Dr. Hoffman!" Slamming the door, he spotted her in the parlor with Barnabas. "Whatever you guys are doin', stop it."

Julia looked up horrified. "My God, what happened? You're covered in blood!"

"Oh, that. The Collinsport Ghoul exploded on me. And guess who he was, the shithead I told ya not to hire, but would ya listen to me? No. I hope now ya know, ya can't go 'round givin' vampire blood to just any asshole."

"You're not referring to Harry Johnson?" Julia squinted at him in disbelief. "But he was such a good worker."

"And you are a rotten judge of people, but never mind that. I want ya to make me human again. I'm gonna marry Maggie Evans."

The couple looked at him in surprise. "Willie, how can you consider such a thing after what happened to Barnabas?" the doctor questioned.

"I figure that was because he was becomin' his real age. I'm already my real age, so it won't matter."

"You don't know that for certain. It's very risky."

"You can do it, Julia. You're a_ brilliant_ doctor. Let's start now."

"We'll see. I will look over my notes." Dr. Hoffman excused herself and went upstairs to the laboratory.

When she had gone, Barnabas, who had been sitting silently in his favorite chair, motioned to his servant to come near and handed him a handkerchief with which to wipe his face.

"So, you are willing to give up this life for the woman you love."

"Yessir." Willie did not hesitate to answer.

"You do remember that she killed you, shot you five times in the chest."

"Four, sir, and that was just a misunderstanding. It's cool now."

"If that is your judgment, so be it. I, too, have made a decision. I am going to ask Julia Hoffman for her hand."

Willie looked incredulously at the older vampire. He barely thought of Dr. Hoffman as a woman, let alone romance material. "Ya mean get married? Why? I thought ya liked Vicki Winters."

"I care deeply for Miss Winters, but Julia has done so much for me, we've shared—"

"No, don't tell me!" Willie shook his head. "I don't wanna hear it, and I don't wanna think about it. The two a' ya—" A grin crept over the young man's face. "She asked _you_, didn't she? And you didn't know how to say no."

Barnabas avoided the question. "Has Miss Evans accepted you?"

"Kinda. . . no, not exactly. But—she said she might go out with me if I wasn't dead at the time. Later on, we'll get married."

"What then of your obligations to me?" Barnabas looked as if he had been slighted.

"Oh. I-I dunno." Willie hadn't thought of that. "Maybe I could still work here—if ya want me to."

"I certainly don't want to go to the trouble of training a new servant."

"If I'm human again, I can go back to takin' care a' ya durin' the day." The older vampire nodded, conceding his point. "But, don't forget, ya said I could have a bigger room."

"Yes, I did."

"And a salary? C'mon, ya can't court a woman properly without some cash in yer pocket. Throw me a bone, will ya?"

The master sighed. "Oh, very well."

Willie was on a roll. He decided to go all out.

"Can we get a TV and hook it up to the generator?"

"No."

Until the end of time, some things would never change.

"Now that that villain has been brought to justice," the elder continued, "perhaps our lives can return to normal."

"With you there and me here." Willie sat on the floor and threw a log on the grate in the fireplace. "I'm kinda glad to be goin' back to normal. Some people aren't cut out to be vampires, ya know? With great power comes great responsibility." He lit the paper covering the Duraflame log.

"And who said that? Oscar Wilde?" the servant shook his head. "Mark Twain?" _No._ "Fortune cookie?"

"Spiderman." His servant began to stoke the fire. "And I'm sure glad we're rid of Harry Johnson." The boss nodded.

Willie recalled a passage from a first edition novel Barnabas had once given him to read. "Do ya believe that men've always slaughtered each other as they do today, that they've always been liars, cheats, traitors, ingrates and thieves . . ."

He couldn't remember the rest but Barnabas provided more of the quotation. "Weak, fickle, cowardly, envious?"

Willie jumped back in. "Greedy, drunken, miserly . . . ambitious . . . bloodthirsty . . ."

"Slanderous, lecherous, fanatical, hypocritical and foolish."

"Yeah." The young man smiled. "All that stuff, it's true, ain't it?"

"Indeed. In this best of all possible worlds."

* * *

_A/N: Stay tuned for the final chapter, which will be the epilouge._


	20. Epilogue

_One month later. _

Mrs. Johnson opened the service entrance door at Collinwood to find Willie, the young handyman who was always mooching a free meal and a shower, with Maggie, the diner waitress. Despite earlier claims, Miss Evans was not toting her pop's rifle today; it would have been in extremely poor taste.

The housekeeper invited them in and put on the kettle to make tea. The young pair expressed their condolences over the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Harry's demise. It was devastating to the old woman when she had learned that her son turned out to be the Collinsport Ghoul and was responsible for the murders of so many people. Not to mention the scandal it had brought to the Collins' family, whose primary concern was, of course, the impact of the situation on them.

The lady's red-rimmed eyes bespoke a heavy heart, and she looked bone weary in her plain, black dress and cardigan. For once, Mrs. Johnson had nothing to say. She even declined to berate the young worker who had disappeared for several months without warning, saddling her, once again, with a pile of undone chores.

From the satchel he carried, Willie dumped a cascade of wrapped packets of $100 bills onto the kitchen table. He told the housekeeper a tall tale in which Barnabas had taken out a life insurance policy for Harry during his employment at the Old House. Although he had named himself the beneficiary, Mr. Collins felt, in a gesture of magnanimity, that the money should go to the man's bereaved mother.

Now, Willie explained to the housekeeper, she could afford to quit and was no longer obligated to work for the thankless Collins family who had always ridiculed her cooking skills.

Mrs. Johnson's eyes bulged at the mountain of money. What she didn't know (but Willie found very amusing) was that Jason had almost certainly extorted that cash from Liz Stoddard, so the rich old buzzard was funding her housekeeper's retirement fund without realizing it. Oh well. The young man may have turned over a new leaf since arriving at Collinsport, but it still had a few spots on it.

Willie asked for a favor in return. Again reaching into the satchel, he removed a Polaroid camera and asked Mrs. Johnson to photograph the couple. _Actually, take two_. Or three, so he could send one to the newspaper. Maggie shot a look in his direction but said nothing.

Later Willie walked his girl back to the truck and opened the passenger side door before jumping behind the driver's wheel.

"_Newspaper?_" Maggie asked when they were out of earshot. "Hold it right there, Loomis. I said I would go out with you. Once."

"True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothin' but vain fantasy."

The young woman sighed at his tireless attempts to get her attention. "Quoting Shakespeare at me all the time is not going to get you anywhere."

"Nah, I think you're a sucker for it. I'm gonna learn somethin' new every day just to say to you."

"Okay," she conceded, laughing, "make it something pretty. So, what about our dream date, was that it? Tea in the kitchen at Collinwood?"

"'Course not, that was just somethin' I hadda do." Willie searched his brain to think of what folks do on a date, the part before you end up in the back seat. "Well, we can go to a movie—boy, it's been a long time since I been to a movie—and dinner and . . . I-I dunno, whatever ya want. We'll even drive to Bangor so ya won't haveta be seen with me in town."

Maggie was embarrassed for the young misfit. "Don't say that, Willie. I don't mind being seen with you." But the look on her face said otherwise. "Maybe that's not a bad idea, though. We'd probably get some funny looks . . . Poor Pop, he wishes I was still with Joe."

"Maybe I could buy your pop a big bottle a' scotch, and do some work 'round your house. How's your plumbin'?"

"Do you mean you would bribe my father in order to go out with me?"

"Sure, why not?" He shrugged. "I don't think the Shakespeare would work on him."

* * *

That evening Willie sat at the writing desk in his new bedroom. He used to be lonely when he had first come to Collinsport, and especially to the Old House. Now solitude would have been a blessing compared to having Dr. Hoffman there every day. With her experiments at an end, she had nothing to occupy her time and took to micromanaging Willie's chores and personal life, and he was not good with the supervision thing in either category. Julia really needed to go back to work and do doctor stuff again—somewhere else.

When he and Maggie got hitched, Willie planned to get a place in town and commute to work. Understandably, the relationship between his girl and his boss would always be a bit strained. Besides, no normal person could live in the rotting shithole, as he affectionately called home.

That's why Julia remained at Collinwood, for the creature comforts. The handyman wondered just how long she would be welcome to freeload there now that her Maggie mission had been abandoned. The case was closed and the kidnapping had been attributed to the Collinsport Ghoul, an assumption contradicted by no one at the Old House.

Willie contemplated the impracticality of the Barnabas/Julia pairing, with her at Great House and he in the basement—talk about separate bedrooms. Maybe Julia should become a vampire too; that would solve a lot of problems. These mixed marriages seldom worked out.

Willie studied the Polaroid photo in his hand for a long while. He and Maggie were standing side by side, smiling, his arm around her shoulder. The young man had no experience with how to behave properly in a romantic relationship and warned himself not to be too impulsive. He didn't want to scare her off by coming across as some crazy stalker. Like some people he could mention.

He turned the photo over and wrote on the back.

_This is me and my girl friend. Her name is Maggie. Please set two extra places at thanksgiving cause we are coming to visit. I love you._

Then he dropped the snapshot in an envelope and addressed it to Mrs. Lydia Loomis Harrison of Schenectady, New York.

_The End_

* * *

**A/N:** So, dear readers, it took 20 chapters, but Willie eventually learned every one of Candide's words (from the beginning paragraph) and used them in context.

The Willie Loomis saga ends here. Shut up, I know I said that before only to discover that this stuff is terribly addictive. But everyone at present is living happily ever after and, if the story continues, I just know things will fall apart.

For now I plan to review and rewrite my earlier fanfics to be more consistent with the later works. The six pieces are really one consecutive story (book?) but my writing style evolved over time. The new, improved version will be the director's cut, with special features and deleted scenes.

So, please check out my do-overs when they come out. The first one is just about ready to go. I'll put the rewrite date in the blurb. Or I may just post them as new stories (don't know if I'm allowed to do that). And, if you do read (or re-read) them, please leave comments because the worst part about ending this series is that I will really miss hearing from you guys.

Au revoir,  
MM

_Little Willie _(M category)  
_Globetrotters  
The Maine Event  
Changes  
This Old House  
Interlude_


End file.
